In enumeration of enamorations,
I noted my logic flawed,
my solipsism complete.
For you spoke in backward symbols
that I was too forward to understand.
When you postulated ouy evol i,
I began a dialectic,
you began an egress.
What I presumed as equivocal Greek
I now ascertain as love,
leaving me lacking le mot juste
and just one proof:
Love is a desolate syllogism.
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