A Sonnet for a Saturday

The Scribbled lines, penned and signed on colder days

Intertwine, A gossamer and shimmering web of hurt and lies

Still manage to endeavor in cold and crueler ways

To pour in liquid shards that sting and cut my eyes

The wounds you left were tasteful and contrived so well

With all an artist's and a connoisseur's practiced caprice

To damn me to an intentionally deeper and more personal hell

The visible scars prove to be a lovely conversational piece

My hand is now by my preference always clasped in it's twin

Perhaps, over enough friendly time, the two will seamlessly meld

I believe the outcome would be a virtue, though others may consider it a sin

A hand that's tightly, unbreakably clasped cannot easily be held

I marvel at the cold and clammy efficiency of How

What you did to me many yesterdays ago, affects what I do to me now