Sonnet

We the Picaresque

We’ve been writing about love all along.

Its thousand-fold colors and endless names,

indelible mark and ongoing cloying songs;

how it runs wild, goes astray, or tames.

We yearn and return to another date.

Hope hikes faster after it descends

if the elusive sought-after soul mate

awaits (or is someone else's to lend).

Soon to take chances, we mend on the go.

The odds matter not; we’re bound to get past,

wired to wake up, though ragged and slow.

Our faith and our folly get back in the sack.

“Not again” is the lament as before leads to after.
Still, we believe love will grant a new chapter.

~ LCMH