Sonnet X
A friendly door, the inference from the weightof ease, you stood obtuse, and flung, or so it seemed,
completely open wide, an invite: bait,
or flag of indecision, but I dreamed
of running, in slow motion, the hard wait
forgotten, through your peeling frame that deemed
itself trustworthy. Now the splinters lie
as evidence, the fingerprints that tell
the story of the damaged woodwork's fail-
you never stood as strong, as true, as I,
for, unpretentious as my approach (by
all standards) was, your pride could not prevail.
Such brittle timber broke when I passed through,
and cracked the abject arch I learned was you.
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