I live the truthfulness of love wherein,
And draw in precious breath as breath is drawn;
Though blind deceit believed the pulse within-
This pulsing sweetness - that was not redrawn.
I wonder if such force did power all,
As by some magic did from them derive
To beat a love from angel's greater call,
Wherein the hearts of truest lovers thrive?
No! She this tender heart did mold herself!
The crescendo of my beat that you have stirred
Does prove that pulse within was hers to shelf,
Or is a thunder mine once never heard.
The beat, my truth as in my pulse does swell:
Our love is one, not two as dared to tell.
