I love him
But.
(There is no "but.")
And
Come twilight, no change.
For love is always "and" without a catch.
We love
As love has made us "we."
Two rolled into one.
A discourse,
Ever widening,
And ever deeper, so help me.
God, the words come slow with age and time,
But I am his, and he, mine.
postscript
For day seven of A cadae, whose syllabic count is based on pi.