I love him perpetually,
But what makes me love him
Scares me to silence.
So intently, he muses himself
with the present
So fully he believes
in the moment
That I wonder when I might slip
into the past.
Anyway I could not loose
for he looks upon me Favorably
And my heart might deceive my intentions
But It will never deny what ought to be.
Each love has a symbol
that casts a looming memory for good or ill.
If ever our love will fade,
So will the earth:Every bird and tree;
Every star and cloud remind me
of the death of that perfecting love.
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