And yet they never seem to hit home quite
These relics of a foregone conclusion
The sonneteer's last mindless diffusion
Do carry not respot's only first respite
Love poetry's only words dance on paint
When there is no page but foul odours pounce
On blogspot we write but shoot for an ounce
Of Celtic spirit ouisce beatha saint
To look upon that fair rancid Stella
Feeling noxious in sight of fair bella
Let go the dogs of war and loose your heart
Dream not young faggot of lovers' failed start
Broken crown not the knot of destiny
My 苏州 sweetheart responded to me....
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