Sonnet Six

The twisting of my heart with expertise
Is something you, and you alone, can pull.
Not uncle, cousin, nephew, aunt nor niece
Has e’er excelled in taking for a fool
This man you claimed to “love” – as if you knew
The meaning of the word, you senseless wench!
Oh how I long to bid complete adieu
To you who seems to leave behind your stench,
Your filthy flavoring and seasoning
That leavens every lump of love afloat,
Defying wisdom and sound reasoning
And leaving me with estimates to quote,
Just how high must the price be that I pay
To fully and fore’er put you away?

© A. Pope 2020

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