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.

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