All and ones both for and about you
–being almost same,
I have, in ways to consider you,
not much more than these I have offered;

there are few more in works
than these soon here;
what am I to write you after that?

Perhaps an idea will come;
maybe it will bear your heart's capture.
But these words hold my mind of you,
and they be the ones that linger

–the words that keep your here,
or I'd've lost you much sooner
had they not started.

But in those direct' to you,
still know I not how to respond,
as responding to absence,
to space,
the void that I do fill
with imaginings of how you'd react
and how accepting I would be...

The course you've put me through
to understand if my description
of my love and its potential
will ever be accepted by you

since our losing contact.