Poetry (with an itchy nose)

But to lose your love as I have, without thought.

I should lay awake at night and beat my brow.

Your lightest touch, your sweetest smile my heart sought.

There’s nothing to look forward to in my life. Now

Would you carry on? As though our love meant naught

To you? I feel shame, I feel lost, I feel thou

Art more lovelier than Shakespeare’s wretched wrought.

He wields words like weapons, with beauty somehow.

Though his lavishment of verse I cannot strive,

My mindless meanderment pleads to contrive.

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