The Open Heart


At twenty-one, I loved you
More than I will say.
At thirty-one, I seemed to
Be dying every day.


Tracked you down in Rome's back streets,
Desperate for a glance;
Trapped you out where Tiber meets
The Bacchanalian dance.


Somewhere down in old Marseilles,
We had it all to do;
Couldn't quite explain a way
Two lovers could get through.


Finally, in Winchester,
We blew it all apart:
(As secret passions fester,
So does the open heart!)