Yes, if any enquire, there's blood upon the page--
(sonnet #MMMMMMCMXXIX)
So what of...love? the fevered pulse' detail And how I'm yours in just a wink, to fence Is't twinkling hours with you in every sense Upon my tongue, and throbbing in betrayl Through all my veins: I have forgotten, pale As aught excuse, what it meant to be thence All yours, because to be is dead from hence Cuz you are not, a memry without bail. Yet Valentines is coming round in tour, Though I've ne'er had a man tae sweetly woo Or say "Be MINE" 'til after all in poor Excuse was oer. I'd suitors months 'go who Pledged love and called me theirs. But now? Lo, we're Fresh out of that, my dear. Ah, what is new?
05Feb18c
...it was fresh when I inked this sonnet for the class prompt for February, very reluctantly, I must add, seeing I hate to dredge up fevered senses when I've nothing for it all now.