Hardly Even a Sonnet

Dipping – dancing – curling – swirling,

And a thousand other words for the actions of the heart

when its cantering pace is trebled by the next morsel of

attractive flesh sauntering its carefree way by.

And aren’t they all piti-

ful. An exacting standard for any romantic – hopeless

or otherwise – prepared to dip his quill to pen his passion,

And make the nib just dance across papyrus –

New hand-written font,

The curls and stresses of Es and Cs,

The swirls and tresses of Yous and Mes,

A stanza set apart – just like – the harsh arrhythmia

that unrequited craving brings—

 

… And whose curséd spell I remain beneath. Damn.

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