SONNET 5,239


He speaks to me respectfully, t’is true;
With words so fresh and sweet, unlike the rest;
He does not send me images of blue;
His heart be pure, to that I can attest.
He asks about my day, about my life;
With sentiment of pure and truthful care;
He does not ask for things that are unright;
His soul be calm and tender over there.
He looks at me: both eyes are shaped like hearts;
With visions of one future we’re both in;
He does not see me as a sep’rate part;
His mind be seeking starstuff, equal kin.

For years I was a book upon a shelf;
Yet now I read his words and read myself.




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