Love, though absent, flickers no less sweet
Than kisses conjured from your honeyed lips;

Consuming me from afar, in memories, your spark
Reaches out to me as a beacon in stygian night,

Bereft of you, yet not apart, nor longing -
Loneliness takes no seed where our love grows.

Penned by my hand on the 6th of Midsummer, in the year 213 MA.