Sonnet 1

My head to you nightly cocked on one side
Obeisance, ready to your slightest whim
Forever hoping some morsel to skim
So that til I see you I may abide
That is a comfort only you provide
The touch of your voice on my aching limb
The balm in abundance; my measure slim
You make me suffer so; my patience tried.
How long til I see you, my terrible muse?
How soon will I be consumed in your flame?
My life exquisite torture since you came
My heart’s substance you did so much abuse.
Yet I take my torture in good measure
My wounds taste sweet; the source of your pleasure.