Laura, you fish, you.

I've been writing poetry lately. Here's my latest. It's an Italian sonnet.

The Bait of Battered Love

This morning sunlight filled my cluttered flat--

I woke embittered by my sleep cut short

And hid myself back in my duvet fort

To breathe new life into my cushioned slat.

No, I have never loved in all these years

No mum, no dad, no Laura to adore--

No pearled shell that washed in on my shore.

Oh tragic fate, I wear the crown of Lear.

But what’s that headached pounding on my door?

I stir from sheets still warm with stifled sleep.

Upon my porch I find, to my chagrin,

Some fish and chips left waiting on the floor.

I’m hooked and reeled from dreary waters deep:

The bait of battered love with salt and skin.