Compartments
My love’s sole parts I’ll never itemize,
To hack and chop proves meet for butcher’s meat,
And corpses, coroners anatomize.
Why part my sweet when each sole part’s unsweet?
Remove a piece, and make a saint a beast,
Their nothingness proves unsubscribable.
Completes all peace, my love’s an always feast,
Her everything proves indescribable.
But perjury to swear against my actions!
My poems partly catalog her portions.
What mean I now to fear component fractions?
The truth's impeached to live with freed distortions.
My whole life’s dead if when I try her heart,
With soulless dread I prove I’m not a part.
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