Must

 Of course I have been in love, and it is madness
It upsets the peace and burdens the heart with want
An unnecessary complication to freedom 'tis no less
Than servitude to the flesh, a pitiful slave abundant
With time with nothing to do with infinity so tiredness
Sets in like consumption, and how can that be called
Love, it is not, you have not really loved until you must
The one you do not, until you turn those feelings, fold
Yourself over a hundred times and read the lines such
Creases that draw the face of a woman who simply must.

It begins with a habituating of the mind, one under the
Helpless calm of meditation, a loving kindness drawn of
Others so much easier to love, and so you will feel the
Ghost of your resistance leave like the inevitable scurry of
Fleas from the dying, and it will be much easier to regard
The fortune at one's hand, and so must you incite passions
With empirical behaviour, close your eyes and feel, ward
Away the revulsion, feel the tenderness there, the lesions
Heal faster with your mercy, and ecstasy will come from rape
Let him disabuse you, and only then would you have loved.