Sonnet XVIII: Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day?
At some point long ago, I promised myself I'd never pen another love poem.
I transposed all my ballads to cynical limericks,
All my eloquent "your smile" haikus to "fuck your denial" lyrics
Those sonorous "your eyes" cuartets to cacophonous "your lies" blank threats.
From harmonies to dissonance;
From John Lennon to Sid Vicious.
From a rose-tinted view to a jaded hue.
And then...I met you.
Little by little, words echoing of The Bard's crept into my resting head,
Cynical satires weaving into sonnets, until I found myself half-asleep in my bed,
In a realm unburdened by Reality and unhindered by Reason,
Crafting similes about "your smile" 'n' molding metaphors about "your eyes,"
Comparing them to the Seasons.
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