Save my love, spare my soul

Grueling is to guard this bond 
Warmth is the gadget to hoard
Prudence is the smiles, the hushed tears, the cosmos
and the cogent pretense
They call some things love, for me it is a spur,
burning bliss between my breasts, my quick beating heart 
and my frail round knees.
Ah! I fear failing to recall it and I might,
And yet I go on, the phase is to pass
And I am to know it, all over again.
Taxing is it to content this soul.