Ichorous things of life imbibed
to my own growing tides of flowing fragrance
Framed and made to be inailable,
delineating from terra crust, by way of haste

Wherein to bear and bare
so fairly open frocked and flailed alone
Is my own home, my heart,
a haven shown,
but ever lovenly in some display of synergy

But never made to gaze upon me freely,
by my own, lowly show of simplicity,
As I could never be without thee
And you see, there is no me to be,
when seen individually

So, I must note, as loathed, may I be
That one is none, as we are thee,
And without he to be me,
See, what we would be is nearly nee