Love Letter

I am too long without your affections, and given to weeping. I find no pleasure in dining, nor drinking, nor smoking. I want only your honeyed voice and calloused hands to sustain me. I am yours and will not waver. I count the days until we meet again, and sleep evades me. Comfort is lounging at your feet. I long for Sunday, my darling, when I will be once again in your embrace.