Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Though ‘neath these blaring notes and flashing bulbs
My pen writes air. Thy face mine eyes can’t see.
Might I speak under moonlit sky to thee?
Thy blackest hair night’s amber glow now frames,
With grin that parts thy rosy lips sculpted
By Time’s fine brush. But thy visage, I think,
Doth not seem sister to thy profile pic.
Heathen! Shall I compare thee to this maid
Who you claiméd to be? Banishéd be!
The bend’d bow of okCupid blinded me
And thus I offer up this urgent plea:
Beware, ye fools who seek true love online.
For there, the harlequinned snakes oft seem fine.