By Eros, face to face
We were conceived
And Storgos reared us up.
We sat in comfortable chairs
Until we discussed our love:
My love, who cherishes
But expects that from the beloved
Feelings, thoughts and dreams
Should be served up like meat and two veg.
As you tend your garden
I become more of the weed;
The inevitable, willful, selfishness
To wreck the thriving beauty of it all.
