[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.

Chronic, Hopeless Romanticism is Sappy

He’s the reason I smile at all.

If I’m laughing, it’s at something he said.

If my bed isn’t lonely, it’s him that’s snuggled up next to my chest. If my phone rings and I frown, it’s because it’s not him on the other line. If I’m giggling with a devious smile, I’m devising what I would like to do to him. If I’m completely bummed, it’s because I was expecting to see him; but alas, plans fell through.

If I’m dreaming, he’s the lead, the supporting, or even the only other character. If I’m drinking coffee alone, I’m thinking of him. If I’m drinking beer – it’s imported – and he bought it for me. If my phone goes directly to voicemail, I’m probably talking to him and don’t care what you have to say. If you don’t hear from me in a whole weekend, you can bet money that I’m with him.

If there’s a blank, somber stare in my eyes, that’s me desperately wishing I could kiss him. If I have one hand clutching my shoulder and the other draped across my waist: that’s me hoping to know the next time he’ll hold me close. If I’m fiddling with a lighter, that’s me pondering the last time he lit my cigarette. If I’m listening to music, it’s probably some he sent me. If I’m singing a cheerful tune, it’s because he’ll soon be in the driveway for me to be scooped up.

If I’m trying NOT to think of him, you’ll catch me playing mahjong – the jerk has addicted me to it. If I’m watching Mystery Science Theatre with an arm and a leg wrapped around a body pillow –  that’s me pretending to be with him. If I’m inhaling deeply with my eyes fastly-closed shut, I’m savoring his scent. If I’m dancing around like a buffoon, it’s because he’s pleasantly surprised me with something awesome – or possibly something sweet. If I’m blabbering like an idiot, I’m dreadfully sorry: it’s the direct result of the butterflies, flittering about inside my head, which he’s planted there. If you see me writing in my journal, it’s undoubtedly got something to do with him. If I go to sleep with a smile and a sigh, it’s because he made me do it. If I appear in deep thought, I’m contemplating a better way to tell him how I feel. If you catch a glimpse of a tear fall from my cheek, I’m wishing I could close the gap between point A and point B.

If I’m awake and aware that he’s not around, I will dearly be missing him.

But if – and only if – my heart is still beating, am I sure to incessantly be loving him.

 

 

And if you’re reading this now..

I love you Darling..

So very very much