𝐵𝓊𝒹𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝒶𝓎,
𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝑒𝓇'𝓈 𝒹𝒶𝓎
I feel best in my strawberry dress
It's stupid, really
all glee and smile
gee, I acted like a child
It's stupid, really
I thought of nothing
but of my love for you
Godd-mn,
𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦,
𝘪𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭?

And if it weren't for those times
where impediment
was all I can speak of,  
𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎, 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍,
𝚠𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎
𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛
synthesizing
my weathered hyacinth
into a 𝕘𝕠𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕟 𝕕𝕒𝕗𝕗𝕠𝕕𝕚𝕝
resided by the lake
of your
evergreen field

Be it 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕤𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕙, 𝘍𝘪𝘵𝘻𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘥,
𝒮𝒽𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒, or 𝚁𝚞𝚖𝚒
No sonnets on earth
is as beautiful
is as grandeur
as God-made poetry;
You.