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He caressed my heart to the summit,
Where no other lover had been
He cleaved my soul into pieces
Each with its own separate dream
We looked down, from the love, we had burnished
At all we had left in our wake
We ploughed through our hearts, with a passion
We swam in a warm crimson lake

He loves me, he loves me, he loves me
He tells me so, with his eyes
His kisses wash over and through me
I’m lost in the sound of his sighs
I’m lifted beyond any picture
I’m carried beyond any stars
The roses which grow in my garden
Have been freed from a life behind bars

The clock that I hear softly ticking
Knows nothing of time any more
The seas surging onwards for ever
Can find rest, on my own private shore
I love him, I love him, I love him
He knows I am all I can give
Saving all of my memories, to show him
On this peak where no lovers have lived

I am lost in a forest of seasons
Each fern strokes my side as I pass
An oasis of calm hears my heartbeat
I’m a woman discovered at last.

Dear Byron,

As a woman, I appreciate your empathy and understanding of [at least my] internal landscape. I'm wondering if your poem has come to be as a result of long conversations of intimacy, with your love describing to you how she feels ~ or whether you've really been able to place yourself in this position on your own. Love is love, whether it's experienced by man or woman. The experiencing and expressions of it tend to be different, however. Your particular connection with love strikes a chord in me and resonates deeply. This expresses perfectly the feelings imbued with only one person in my life experience. This is a very beautiful poem.

~Elizabeth

Hello Elizabeth; I put myself in the narrator's position. Which is not to be confused with the missionary position. I studied a lot of feminist issues when doing my degree, and sitting in a room full of 18 year old young women was something of an eye opener (ambiguity intended) It was one hell of an experience.