I beg you, to prove your love to me don't write such poems— the kind that emerges only after hammering relentlessly at the skull; gasping as soon as it's born...running frantically here and there... before birth...the brain's helpless weeping under the ceaseless thrashing of thighs and all the other accompaniments like these, by whose grace the poem's embryo is murdered.
Better instead to write those utterly inedible poems, where simple emotion mingles with even simpler tenderness... none of which, in the end, becomes poetry, yet becomes love...heart-stirring.
Don't show love, just love.