sonnet

Disquite SonnetI wish that I could find the words to tellYou were it hurts; nothing breaking my skinSlices whispering in my brain like hellLeaking suggestions of a morose grinCannot collect my thoughts long enough toShare them in an understandable waySo I lock my lips firmly and walk throughLife, searching for the perfect words to sayTrapped in my head, I seek to be let outGrasping connections with those who might knowWhat it feels like, alone in a crowd, doubtFilling my body with reasons to goFace to face, I might not find the right phraseBut I hope someone hears me anyway

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and heightMy soul can reach

Just let me wait a little while longer,Under your window in the quite snow.Let me stand here and shiver, I__l be stronger If I can see your light before I go.All through the weeks I__e tried to keep my balance.Leaves fell, then rain, then shadows, I fell too.Easy restraint is not among my talents,Fall turned to Winter and I came to you.Kissed by the snow I contemplate your face.Oh, do not hide it in your pillow yet!Warm rooms would never lure me from this place,If only I could see your silhouette.Turn on your light, my sun, my summer love.Zero degrees down here, July above.

Mark but this flea, and mark in this, How little that which thou deniest me is; Me it sucked first, and now sucks thee, And in this flea our two bloods mingled be; Thou know__t that this cannot be said A sin, or shame, or loss of maidenhead, Yet this enjoys before it woo, And pampered swells with one blood made of two, And this, alas, is more than we would do. Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare, Where we almost, nay more than married are. This flea is you and I, and this Our mariage bed and mariage temple is; Though parents grudge, and you, we are met, And cloisterd in these living walls of jet. Though use make you apt to kill me, Let not to that, self-murder added be, And sacrilege, three sins in killing three. Cruel and sudden, hast thou since Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence? Wherein could this flea guilty be, Except in that drop which it sucked from thee? Yet thou triumph__t, and say'st that thou Find__t not thy self, nor me the weaker now; __is true; then learn how false, fears be: Just so much honor, when thou yield__t to me, Will waste, as this flea__ death took life from thee.