I'll settle for a sonnet, if impassioned.
Is there a point to any other kind?
True love cannot be limited or rationed,
a creature of the heart, not of the mind.
Unbounded, unconstrained and all consuming,
love cannot wait to taste you, to inhale
the perfume of a field of poppies blooming,
to search for words but ultimately fail,
because, how could it not? As a mere mortal
who's blessed with but a glimpse of the divine,
I'm praying for a covenant, a portal,
a sip of sacred, sacramental wine
that cannot be discarded or dismissed.
I lick my lips: remember how we kissed?
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