Hi.
(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLXXX)
O! did I cherish that more ghastly sense
Of light, how tis gone with the shadows' pale
Forms likewise, blue heavns masked in sheer betrayl,
Nor but this duller blank of nothing hence
Which region clouds own, dead leaves silent thence
Upon these naked limbs, with nary frail
Breath save tis frozen air whose keen detail
They shiver to, as I, sans aught suspense.
Or wait. Now Paul "likes" me as well. In poor
Excuse, and for the first time ever--ooh!
I sent a man a "smile." Now what, as twere?
Let me hear Bach and pick up Shakespeare to
Align half wakened dreams, lest I chafe fer
Long minutes oer vain hope. as none quite woo.
14Jan18b
(Perhaps someday soon I'll let him read all I've written for him, who knows?)
