...The story of a girl in London, England


Sonnet 18


My love—if then “my love” you truly are—

I cannot help but temper hastiness.

For though I trust intention’s true, alarm

Begins to grip my timid heart, unrest

Un-wits my soul with bitter taste of loves

Which I have suffered times, and lost. The fear;

The simple panic; tightened, children’s gloves

Upon my woman’s hands, constrain me here.

But fear—it is a monster of the mind.

The wall we build to heal ourselves, and keep

From meeting heartache once again. But dark-

Ness past may not a darker future find.

I will, for you, un-paralyze my feet.

I will, for you, un-paralyze my heart.

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