The arrow no longer comes out of my heart; what strange kind of acquaintance or intimacy is this of yours?

The poet takes the classic metaphor of love's arrow striking the heart and gives it a wry, bittersweet turn: the arrow has lodged so deeply that it now refuses to leave. Instead of an injury that heals, the pain has made a permanent home inside him, blurring the line between torment and devotion. With a sigh of gentle irony, the lover asks if this inescapable ache is what intimacy truly looks like—where the wound itself becomes the beloved's most loyal companion.