Is it pure coincidence my brother had called for my birthday four nights earlier, and instructed me regarding how to know whether a man loves me?  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXXVII)


I thought of sipping wine, and, to avail
O, nibbling choc'late after hours for sense,
Until YOUR text confirmed the dream which thence
YOUR lies had stoked:  was false.  Now in the hale
Eye of a Winter's dawn where snow to scale
Is piled so whitely 'round, I think fr'intents
Of how but thieves and scoundrels rouse pretense
To mock me e'er anon, and whither's bail?!
We sip the lighter Barry's tea in tour
And talk of sourdough since he makes bread to
Feed all of us cuz my late schedule, poor
As saying, is far too busy.  And I do
Not watch those whitish tendrils waft as twere
Upon my rosy lea, now.  Ah, what's new?

28Nov18a