If you were single I’d write you a sonnet
but you’re not, so here’s 11 syllables
instead of 10 with the wrong number of lines
and no hint of iambic pentameter.
Maybe it’ll make you laugh a little bit.
William Shakespeare’s staring at me coldly, but
this isn’t about him. This is about you
and how heartbreaking it is to remember
someone a few decades too late.
If your fingers were ring-less I’d take a trip
to your location, if you asked, but that is
pure fantasy. The harsh reality is
the rock on your left hand is bigger than my…