My lover truly loves me, but it’s true
she won’t believe that I could love her more –
Or even much. She is my retinue
by her own doing: why must she abhor
the thought that I would be her right hand man?
I’d shield her from the brutish, roasting rays
of that obnoxious star. I'd cool the sand
with my thick shadow lest it fry and flay
the milky flesh from her superior frame.
Much more than this attention I would pay
if she would call me by another name
and not my formal appellation. Say
that I am friend and lover, dearest bride,
and I will rarely ever leave your side.