‘From hence where’st we knot,
my bosom bore deep.
Her love is a lion,
your heart: prey hath seek’d.’
Rich blood seeps like teardrops,
soft trails down burned cheeks.
Not blood of pain, an adorational bleed.
Wipe, dear angel, wipe sadness from heat.
Don’t be hurt, my dear; find comfort from me.
I bare you, my soul; please take it; it’s yours.
My heart pounds for you, a rhythm: four beats:
One for your smile, two to be sweet.
Three for your beauty, four ‘skip-a-beat’s
I know you don’t get this; you don’t understand.
Old English is a weakness, yet my strength is to stand.
My sentences hold my fears; they shield what I mean.
I told you, ‘I love you.’
Is that hard to read?
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