May I plagiarize my one desire?
Sonnet, bid me ever want another.
Poetic confinement; cancerous thoughts—
Anatomic minefield, thorn in Thy cross.
As you Love, do I-count no ways at all…
Perchance, love is not made—lest we should fall.
(the rub) not to sleep, but rather to dream
The Uncertain glory (so it would seem).
The world’s a page, the words merely failures,
Sing our duet, O dear heartstring player.
Promise, expectations come at no cost;
If truth lives indeed, why feel we so lost?
This is the way (the world) my song shall end,
Not with a bang…whimper…not with a friend...
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