When you come, come empty-handed, my Beloved, return to me
nothing but your presence. Nothing but your love.
If you would come, Beloved, come to me with empty hands & give me nothing but your love.
I need your presence more than tangibility, for what is safety?—nothing but your love.
Return to me and change your mind and let our past be gorgeous, purely good and mutual.
A time for every purpose under heaven; nothing, though, is timely—nothing but your love.
With Eden traded for the universe-at-large, a glass of gin evokes true junipers.
An extract is a poor excuse; a substitute for truth is truly nothing—but you're Love.
I wait for you—for you to move, for you to come adore me; maybe I should move to you.
My failures prove that I am nothing—you admit it too: I'm simply nothing but your love.
I long to be a testiment that you'll be loved as you have loved me; I am not enough.
My love is yours; this love that I return to you will be precisely nothing but your love.