Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Sweaty, smelly, and seeped
In high expectations, while actually
Ending in an unpleasant stickiness
And the need to shower.
Would a rose by any other name be
Just as sweet?
Yes, but it would still be a prick.
What light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and you are the sun.
Hard to look at for an
Extended period of time,
And will eventually kill me
If I spend too much time in your presence.
So are you to my thoughts as food to life –
A distraction from the problems
I should actually be dealing with.
Or as sweet-seasoned showers are to the ground –
You ruin picnics.
O, that I were a glove upon your hand
That I might touch that cheek!
Then I could be used to slap you
As the preamble of a duel.
Let all the number of the stars give light
To thy fair way!
Because, like the stars,
You are gassy and distant.
Exeunt my life, Bethany.