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Sucker for a Sonnet
I adore a pretty poem -
florid words softly celebrating
hibernating hearts
love-stung wide-aware
( like autumn-lulled lungs
inhaling fresh arctic air ).
I’m a sucker for a sonnet -
fourteen lines of iambic pentameter
strictly rhymed
commemorating gentle souls
careening out of control
with fierce desire.
Hell -
I used to be that kind of writer.
