More than my love is needed. Which isn’t flowery metaphors, similes, or alliteration. Which isn’t superlatives, or exaggerations. Which isn’t rhymes with dove or above, or a meter that, for example, throbs like my yearning heart. Which isn’t elequent dscriptions of various pains of being in love, like missing you, or of various joys of being in love, like from the sensuality in the way you smile. Which are nothing more than echoes Because I can make none of those work if you don’t love me, if I don’t understand that. To write a love poem, more than my love is needed.
February 1971