Top Forty yells it out, but not this one: I blush to say it, even think it, even in our doubled secret dark, safe from any ears but yours, two very fine ears. In all clench-jawed America, no one says it, as if it were the secret code, and we bit tongues against Gestapo questions, polite all-day, all-night questions. It’s after the secret hair sprouts that we lease it, for our entire ever, to the radio. Before that teen-age sign-away I love you love we love us love love conjugates everywhere on our childish tongues, but about age twelve we start to suit the action, and forget the word. So if I never say I love you, it’s not true. I do.