Sonnet S.A.

“Where are you?”, I questioned all the more,
Pacing back and forth my feet were sore.
No reply was heard; my muse, my queen,
only if I knew how she had been. 

Pointless was the usual honesty:
question me but nothing you shall see. 
Trailing far behind her shadowed path,
Unbeknownst, she carries on her task.

Sensual was her silhouette, I craved;
time and time again, I misbehaved. 
Why do I resort to this, you say?
Loving passion, lying every day.

Only I am what is best for you,
Death to all who comes between us two.

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