O my sweet lover, your touch is more gentle
Than the soft flutter of one thousand butterflies in flight,
In the chambers of my heart, your word is more forceful
Than a countless army instigating a plight
Upon the kingdom of my desires,
You shatter the prison of my intentions,
And prove that any design has no lasting structure
When your love instigates my false pretensions
Into the battle, and with your Cross you conquer
My convictions and destroy my shyness with fire.
I would not dare pretend that any skill of mine is best
When it stands in comparison to your beauty;
I do not imagine that anything I have done is blest
Without first being chained to love’s duty.
O my sweet lover, let my work contain the seeds of a Sabbath,
For in all of my wanderings, my destination
Seems fully revealed, yet slightly hidden
In the ineffable exchange of lovers, and there is an annexation
Of my weary land to your Son: to be held in
His embrace is to be withdrawn from my own wrath,
That in the fabric of my sin is how death is justified.
And the guilty party is always the main witness to guilt,
To pronounce with the false lovers in whose bed they lie
That indeed they gave the gift of devotion to one whom they felt
Could lead them to one moment
That forsakes all the rest.
Instead let my heart repent
Of every moment I forgot thee,
O beloved bridegroom,
Though I be amongst the crowd,