There Is None Like Us Poem by Thor Manchester

Dickinson knows nothing of Eden,
Neither Wilde of symphonies.
Wild nights and immortality do not compare to what I can give you.

Keats and his fair love,
Cope and her valentine,
Nothing transcends my deepest affair to remain true.

I will not sigh after that drink as Yeats does,
nor will I give you only a flower as Fuller would.
A night and flower do not compare to our songs of Solomon.

Holding paint-stained hands with Adrian,
Eloping with Browning,
Loving me I vow to give you all my oxygen.

Red roses and ten thousand miles,
Mistresses and goddesses,
Burns and Shakespeare have never loved as I do.

My dearest sweet amoureux,
I will always love you.