I’ve heard it said that loves are all alike
but I don’t think that’s right. I’ve seen
the imitation brands and fading lights
the fag-end fires and ill-remembered dreams

of youth and lust expire; and I, on fire
consumed by heat and bright combustive joy
compare this forest blaze to sullen mire
and soulless fog; a dog’s discarded toy

compared to countless priceless works of art
which can’t in part describe her worth to me.
For now this truth resides within my heart;
it can’t be love without infinity

perhaps loves are alike; all burn but some
a candle flame compared with our white sun