Love, to you, is laying siege,
So you ring your armies round
The citadel that is my heart,
Triple-walled and Byzantine.
So hurl yourself upon my walls
Day after day, unceasingly
Until every son and daughter’s spent
Against the cruelty of my gates.
All my treaties are rejected
All compromise is scorned
Your terms are simple:
Joyful surrender, or the sword.
But I am old in love and war
And hold the secret you can’t guess:
That by the breaching of the heart
All you hoped to hold is slain.