To Love

Sir Love, your language is dead.
To Dante even, Latin sounded arcane.
No longer lofty,
Nearly dumb,
You sit with a wad of chewing gum
As big as a fist
Pressed into your cheek.
Fumbling with English adjectives,
Forever,
Never,
Is what you meant to say.
These are our clumsy absolutes,
These are all we have to offer.