How do I love thee?-
Wait, that’s not my line.
Shall I compare thee?-
No, no. I think not.
Surely you’re more than a poem?
I mean, sure, you’re hot.
The brightness of thine cheek would shame those stars
The birds should sing, and think it were not night.
Yes, you are the light-
Through yonder window you break-
But that’s not my line either.
The director is snoozing in his chair,
And up on life’s stage all I can think about
Is dragging you back to my lair
Don’t try to slay my dragons,
Or marry me in five pages
-Too rash! Too sudden! Too unadvised!
Too like the lightning, which does cease to be
When the curtain falls
We go back to our stalls
Clean ourselves up before we take a bow.
…But what about the real, the here and now?
I love you, with all the passion of my lost romantic comedies;
All I wanted was a night off and a party in a nice dress,
Then you came along and fell for my hot mess.
So, cheers for that, luv.
What a happy ending!