Sonnet 130-A

Sonnet 130 A sonnet poems

My love, caress me only with thine eyes,

And not with hands, so bare, where corn now grows,

Or call to me as of brisk wind that blows,

With thy damp breath which always brings the flies;

Now, pour me some Cognac, filled flowing be,

Or else, just kiss the brim of my wine cup

Before you toast, and fully drink it up,

Oft thou consumes the contents before me,

Then speak to me so dearly with catcalls,

To complement thy sharp and pointed claws,

Which might highlight thine other childish flaws,

That could explain, to some degree, thy falls;

……..But mark to Heaven mine love’s industry,

……..That makes up for her lacking artistry.

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Reyvrex Questor Reyes

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♪ ♫ Well, I guess, it could be said that if my knowledge and wisdom were converted to wealth, I may humbly say, in all honesty, that I am not a millionaire. But if out of my two cents, you would agree to accept one of it, then, I could proudly say, in all modesty, that I have done charity.♥
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Your writing @Reyvrex_Reyes has a sense of mischief which is so endearing, it is so honest because you do not bestow the beloved with all kinds of saintly virtues. The cadence of the composition is remarkable as also your effortless command of the language. A real pleasure to read your writing.

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