As others predicted, it is.

I’ll guard this dark sweetness with all unspoken mights of jealousy

From the burning mark of past in which it was not mine


Through to our brightly lit Manhattan flat

That we call future


That I will trade empires for you

Is a given, as much as

A song I sing to touch your hesitant lips

The glory of your laughter

Is worth


Nothing that I can put in words

Incapacitated willing


A scattered letter

That perhaps

Can mean a fraction

Of the feast

That you make of my lived world