[not really a] Sonnet 1759

Oh what it be for thee to put a smile upon my face.

The pitter patter ‘neath my ribs, sweet love,  it makes it race.

Appetite without sincerity? Doth know t’lives here, nigh.

But an evergrowing fondness and true admiration lie.

In the depths of souls of souls, nothing verily could mistake,

The boundaries of my love for thee in one single warm embrace.

T’is but neverending and nor ever shall it cease.

I love you Chris, indeed, I do; so dear and true and sweet.

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