Mine. I promise she was mine, not in the way
You vulgarly may think it. Mine in me,
The heart inside my chest, beating through the day
And calming or uncalming in the night,
Mine so that if she fell into the sea,
Were washed away in it to distant shores
I would be drawn straight to her. Mine by right
Not of a conquest, nor of birth, but of
A constant pang of irridescent love,
Mine by the pain with which my love adores,
And now despairing, remembering she's gone.
Mine because I must mourn her, mine therefore
Because when I must, single, carry on
Each empty moment makes me miss her more.
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