Thomas sat on his desk three pieces of paper next to him, he picked up the pencil and began to write

I loved you first: but afterwards your love

Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song

As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove.

Which owes the other most? my love was long,

And yours one moment seemed to wax more strong;

I loved and guessed at you, you construed me

And loved me for what might or might not be –

Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong.

For verily love knows not ‘mine’ or ‘thine;’

With separate ‘I’ and ‘thou’ free love has done,

For one is both and both are one in love:

Rich love knows nought of ‘thine that is not mine;’

Both have the strength and both the length thereof,

Both of us, of the love which makes us one.

After writing that Thomas tossed it to the side saying that it wasn't good enough for Adam he grabbed another

Naked he lay, clasped in my longing arms,

I filled with love, and she all over charms;

Both equally inspired with eager fire,

Melting through kindness, flaming in desire.

With arms, legs, lips close clinging to embrace,

he clips me to his breast, and sucks me to his face.

his nimble tongue, love’s lesser lightning, played

Within my mouth, and to my thoughts conveyed

Swift orders that I should prepare to throw

The all-dissolving thunderbolt below.

My fluttering soul, sprung with the pointed kiss,

Hangs hovering o’er her balmy brinks of bliss.

But whilst her busy hand would guide that part

Which should convey my soul up to her heart,

In liquid raptures I dissolve all o’er,

Melt into sperm, and spend at every pore.

A touch from any part of her had done ’t:

His hand, his foot, her very look's a cunt.

Smiling, he chides in a kind murmuring noise,

And from her body wipes the clammy joys,

When, with a thousand kisses wandering o’er

My panting bosom, “Is there then no more?”

he cries. “All this to love and rapture’s due;

Must we not pay a debt to pleasure too?”

But I, the most forlorn, lost man alive,

To show my wished obedience vainly strive:

I sigh, alas! and kiss, but cannot swive.

Eager desires confound my first intent,

Succeeding shame does more success prevent,

And rage at last confirms me impotent.

Ev’n her fair hand, which might bid heat return

To frozen age, and make cold hermits burn,

Applied to my dear cinder, warms no more

Than fire to ashes could past flames restore.

Trembling, confused, despairing, limber, dry,

A wishing, weak, unmoving lump I lie.

This dart of love, whose piercing point, oft tried,

With virgin blood ten thousand maids has dyed,

Which nature still directed with such art

That it through every cunt reached every heart—

Stiffly resolved, ’twould carelessly invade

Woman or man, nor ought its fury stayed:

Where’er it pierced, a cunt it found or made—

Now languid lies in this unhappy hour,

Shrunk up and sapless like a withered flower.

Thou treacherous, base deserter of my flame,

False to my passion, fatal to my fame,

Through what mistaken magic dost thou prove

So true to lewdness, so untrue to love?

What oyster-cinder-beggar-common whore

Didst thou e’er fail in all thy life before?

When vice, disease, and scandal lead the way,

With what officious haste doest thou obey!

Like a rude, roaring hector in the streets

Who scuffles, cuffs, and justles all he meets,

But if his king or country claim his aid,

The rakehell villain shrinks and hides his head;

Ev’n so thy brutal valor is displayed,

Breaks every stew, does each small whore invade,

But when great Love the onset does command,

Base recreant to thy prince, thou dar’st not stand.

Worst part of me, and henceforth hated most,

Through all the town a common fucking post,

On whom each whore relieves her tingling cunt

As hogs on gates do rub themselves and grunt,

Mayst thou to ravenous chancres be a prey,

Or in consuming weepings waste away;

May strangury and stone thy days attend;

May’st thou never piss, who didst refuse to spend

When all my joys did on false thee depend.

And may ten thousand abler pricks agree

To do the wronged Corinna right for thee.

He threw the paper to the side again not good enough he kept telling himself he was running out of ideas when it finally hit him

Lying in bed I think about you,

your ugly empty airless apartment

and your eyes. It’s noon, and tired

I look into the rest of the awake day

incapable of even awe, just

a presence of particle and wave,

just that closed and deliberate

human observance. Your thin fingers

and the dissolution of all ability. Lay

open now to only me that white body,

and I will, as the awkward butterfly,

land quietly upon you. A grace and

staying. A sight and ease. A spell

entangled. A span. I am inside you.

And so both projected, we are now

part of a garden, that is part of a

landscape, that is part of a world

that no one believes in.

It was perfect now to him he gave it to Adam as adam embraced him