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Sonnets I know I won't seem special to those eyes
that glisten to my glancing on this night;
still, something brings me thinking out stark lies
and hoping for unreals to come to light.
We've never talked, perhaps we never will -
my temperament stalls out with randomness -
but I can see another vision still
where light-crossed gazes end in tenderness.
I wonder if I ever will find love
when I can only think on it alone;
I hope I do not find myself above
or buried with no smiles on my stone.
For my sepulchre, while I have the chance,
perhaps we two could gather for a dance?
