A candle’s spark that held the flame
A type of love that’s not the same
You cause esurient hearts their sufferances
Yet fervent lips release your utterances
Commanding stars to fall by the showers
Turning years back into hours
Your garth holds the perfect scheme
But a fire doth ramshackle the dream
I tune my sail hither the wind
And set a course over your skin
Drifting down a milky cream
Savoring every brook and stream
Has it not been written of?
The burning flame of love?
Is this not that flame, my dove?
Does it not wear like a glove?
For its love’s labor I speak of
And you are the love
A candle’s spark that held the flame
A type of love that’s not the same
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