‘Tis no comfort in the living tonight, my lord,
the souls of poets long past call me away.
They are my charge, dear one, my ward,
I cannot sleep against you whilst in their sway.
Jealous lover, that you are, I feel your eyes still-
gentle, yet fervent, unforgiving in the dark
words written in bloodied ink with pen and quill
steal me, abuse me, each leaves its mark
for words are what seduce me into love,
but actions are what hold and keep me,
so fear not the suitors from below and above
for my lover, my friend, you will always be.