I am not inconvenienced by empathy
whenever we speak to one another;
a lazy mind cannot spark a flame if
it only thinks of itself and no other
I can only see my weaknesses and
the heights from which I may fall;
I am not take me as I am, my love is
greater than a mind that darkens all
I’m not a blunt instrument, the
truth can be served softly as a lie;
do we love what's real or fantasy;
what can it be if not us but only I?
The desires of a lover; is it really me
or something from a dream; I know
all that I am; but am I deeper than
sorrow or important as your long ago?