Mountain and Sea - Spenserian Sonnet

Mountains are immovable, defeating Except when worn by a mustard seed faith. Your love for me is transient, fleeting Gone so quickly, it is more like a wraith. You have too much love, like Henry the Eighth; There's ennui in your arms; death in your gaze. And she may be new, but you can't have baith. I believe this is only a phase. Then, you stroke her hair; wake me from this daze. You are not a mountain, you are the sea, Ocean waves that drown in a nightmare haze. You could not be worn; you're water eroded me. And though you killed me, I crawled from my grave Saw you're a rip tide; you don't love, you lave.