You cannot say what you didn’t love.
When all is gone and only this poem is left,
How will it help if this, too, is bereft?
All is gone. So let this speak of love.
It was love you wanted. You know
Inquisitions always lead to lies
And fast love hates love that’s slow.
But now that you have lived, the same living dies
That made you live. If you love
A poem, that poem must speak of love.
Now let me tell this poem to do
What cannot be done. Love you.