Darling, I'm still learning to be brave
with the hole of your absence
festering in my gut
like the fresh wound it is.
But I'll get there.
They criticize, but they don't know
I have Courage in my collarbone,
Love on my lips,
and nothing to lose.

Hence Cupid! with your cheating toys,
Your real griefs, and painted joys,
Your pleasure which itself destroys.
Lovers like men in fevers burn and rave,
And only what will injure them do crave.
Men's weakness makes love so severe,
They give him power by their fear,
And make the shackles which they wear.
Who to another does his heart submit,
Makes his own idol, and then worships it.
Him whose heart is all his own,
Peace and liberty does crown,
He apprehends no killing frown.
He feels no raptures which are joys diseased,
And is not much transported, but still pleased.