O my love, I have been intimate, near,
In passing flashes, yet now all is waste
And injured I cannot rise above fear:
The memories remain, the joy is erased.
I live by a spring, I bathe but am not cleansed,
And outside there is sun I do not see,
By love alone my shattered heart may mend,
As I wait for a sweet voice to ask of me.
But what else is life but being near you?
Oh, to be given to you; you to me—
I will be faithful to you, true—
With you everything can be—
Without you I am unwhole and desolate—
With you, reborn, and together we beget.

This entry was posted in Sonnets.

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