Spoken by someone worn out and a little drunk, this poem starts with a confession ("I love you darling") and then tries to turn love into grammar. The speaker lays out a verb conjugation, moving from "I love" to "he loves," "you love," "we love," and "they love." The pattern is tidy, and it looks easy when you're sober. The middle stanzas add settings: a bedroom at daybreak, then a cold cathedral with a stony-faced priest and a crowd, which hints at the pressure of weddings or public ceremonies.
Then the poem admits that anyone can love when they're clear-headed, rested and serious. The speaker can't manage that. The ending breaks the pattern, with "I love you - fuck / he loves you / almost / love me / nailed it." The grammar falls apart, but the feeling gets through. The mood is funny, self-mocking and surprisingly tender. The speaker is clumsy, and the mistake somehow lands the truth anyway.