On the day that I met you, I knew,
Something, some thought, some feeling, bloomed,
Some thickening, welling honey, through,
Which glued, that golden glaze which gild,
My eyes, my heart, my feelings, still,
Which seven years would slowly spill,
And now our hands are covered.

And all days since, I've vowed to live,
My all, your happiness, all that is,
My gift to you, accumulative,
To scorn the world, undeserving of us,
To prove to you, that white-hot dove,
That I'm not moving, my lover, my love,
I want for you to stain me.

In the morning, awake with haste,
We both agree, ignore the taste,
Of us, our wine-filled mugs, placed,
Swill, replaced with water at three,
The thirsty, the woken, the golden beam,
The bronze-capped flower, headboard between,
A kiss, just ours, both bodies; clean.