Yesterday was lovely

but you seemed so stiff

Perhaps it was the knife?

Sorry, darling.

My words are wild

galumphing cross the page like zebras,

Meandering from idea to idea, flitting

Like: is it zebras or zebri?

Hebrew or hubris?

See-through or deep-fry?

My words play tricks on me,

writing themselves srdawssa-kcab

flopping and flipping

grappling and gripping

my sternum till it's burning

with the pain of little-know truths

and rhymes gone wrong.

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s night?

Thou art not too bright, but oh so hot.

Indeed, ’tis at the club of night I doth face my plight,

For though I know thou hast a boyfriend, a lady-friend I hath not.

But soft! As I gazeth upon thy slender hips,

Thou sashayeth forward to compel me

We doth chat awhile, and now you puffeth up thy lips

To partake in awkward, pop-culture-esque selfies.

And to my place we doth swiftly travel,

Denying he to whom you are bequeath’d

And as the drunken night unfold’st, so too doth sober thoughts unravel

Though too much uncall’d for detail here shalt not be reach'd.

Yet shortly following our night of whimsy,

I find a flaw entereth our glorious night

Thy boyfriend truly seem’st to miss thee

And soon makes it clear he desireth a fight.

I shan’t speak muchly of what happens next

Yet, thou must know I am not pleased

For, if thou art indeed a summer night

Thee and thy boyfriend art too crazy by at least one hundred degrees!

     So long as men can breathe, or eyes can wander,

     I shan’t returneth to the nightclub, and shalt instead just useth Tinder.