I pray some score of words writ by thy hand;
Endearments revealing themselves in curves
Of ink; sentiments render'd to stand
As perfect testament of love preferred.
I hunger for the mercy in thy kiss;
A solitary touch of lips 'gainst mine.
Or, the heat of your breath as you whisper
"I love you;" so claiming my heart as thine.
But, too often, Muse, I lack thy favour,
And my soul sickens denied sustenance –
It withers to dust sans one I adore;
Wishing recov'ry by thy maintenance.
Do not allow doubt to flourish unchecked,
Nor let this affection die by neglect.