His Love Was Like Milk to Me

His love was like milk to me

Infant, I felt to be,

Cradled in ecstasy:

I fell in love


Held so securely,

In arms that did purely

Ensconce me, so surely:

I was in love


But when he denied it me,

In set despondency 

Why can’t he ever see?—

We are in love


Deprived of my sustenance,

Damned by my comeuppance,

He toasts his oneuppance!—

I’m still in love


Mortal food nauseates;

Nothing can replicate

Potions he bade me take:

I miss his love


Hung’ring for nothing

I start self-destructing

He knows of my suff’ring—

Perhaps he’s in love


Nightmares emerging

The good dreams submerging

His guilt-gullet gurgling:

He spits at our love


My lost love is aging;

His guilt is still raging

‘Tis his heart I’m paging:

“Insist on our love!”


The gravediggers dig at dawn,

Measure, inter, talk on

I casually walk on

The grave of my love


Wedlock won’t hinder me:

Hemlock is tempting me

Yet, no god waits for me:

I’ll stay in love


A ghost wafts its greeting,

Like baby’s breath, fleeting

To it, I’m entreating:

“Keep haunting your love!”


A late coronating,

For lovers-in-waiting,

Unseats those, debating—

For I’m whom he loved