A CONSTANT NEED
by Galen of Bristol
(c) 1995, Paul T. Mitchell, all rights reserved
Not like a hunger is my love for thee,
Now sated, later growing sharp again.
Thy company is like the air to me,
A constant need which, denied, causes pain.
As though without air, in your absences,
Frantic with need I turn from place to place,
Your letters, my only assurances,
Companion me as I, your lion, pace.
For with each breath drawn, I think it near time
I had the next, so too your visits needs
Must be followed by more, as in a rhyme;
My urgency upon thy absence feeds.
It seems I am never with thee alone,
But I plot how next to bring thee to home.
