Love, the Hard Conqueror

These darts of love fly from our eyes Adrip with passion's poisons clear and sweet, Our aim that of another heart's defeat, Its mute enslavement to our sighs. Love blasts holes of unexpected size In our defense; no wall will be respected. The briarbarbed fence of self-content Is breached, and trampled, with perspective. Passion pants its fell directives To our sniper's scoping of the front, That field of victims fair, To take down and devour in the hunt. The wounds of pride will bear the brunt Of soft assault upon stern self-control; Desire stabs the shuddering soul Until its thirsting edge grows blunt. Thus we conspire to murder our sleep While surrendering self-rule To serve another's purpose As captives of the deep Dungeons of our needs, and keep The key clutched tightly in our hand, Afraid to lose the sweet ache of love, Loath to let complacency sweep Devotion from the stage, and weep The loss of desperate, mutual need That grows within, that intoxicant weed Of victorious love we rush to reap.