A LETTER IN GREEN INK

Jelosie be hanged bi a cable!
(Chaucer: The Complaint of Venus)

The hinges turn like eyes, the bolts are oiled;
but I have heard the entries of them all
you kissed by glances and the guilt half-smiled
(I saw); wrote secretly (but I can read
through leather, teak or sleep); whom you would call
on other telephones (on ours at need,
when I was absent: I could eavesdrop, though,
on your voice if it whispered overseas);
met lyingly or secretly (but no:
I was the mousefoot at your side).  All these
I have discerned: oh, little fool, I knew
even before my knowledge became true!

I am the chooser of the poisoned cup;
crooked with pain, researching after pain;
I am the weeping spy, the adder-up
of almost-nothings to a deathly sum - 
in binaries, ah yes, and my not-sane
computer does not fear a minimum:
when it adds 1 and 1, it answers 10.
No barbarous impeachment, no sick act,
no labyrinth of plea, revolts me then:
I judge and sentence by unjuried fact.
But oh my God my darling my free dove,
Can you not see my twisted strength is love?