I shan't compare thee to a summer's day
or to a fleeting bloom in Spring
constrained by form I'd go astray
with cliches to which some poets cling
I know I'm referencing 18
which you know better with your sharper mind
but my memories of you are keen
the way you smile, the ways you're kind
the way your curls catch onto mine
as you lean down so we can kiss
or how they splay when you recline
while arching in resplendent bliss
the thoughts that I retain are few
but how I love the ones that are of you