But she was not made for any man, and she will never be all mine. - Edna St. Vincent Millay

The undercurrent of my every thought:
To seek you, find you, have you for my own.

So come on out, my dear old sweet Sister, - & we'll open our oysters together.

We were so wholly one I had not thought
That we could die apart. I had not thought
That I could move, — and you be stiff and still!
That I could speak, — and you perforce be dumb!
I think our heart-strings were, like warp and woof
In some firm fabric, woven in and out;
Your golden filaments in fair design
Across my duller fibre.