Villus burnished chassis still so lush.

Pulchritude soars bound for my sulfur soul.

Sets fire inside to the abandoned brush,

Waiting to fry sitting on beds of coals.

Yet these beds are only simmering skin,

For I don't combust the way he performs.

Eclisping me in her mind to a sin,

Not to avow, keeping her soul forever sworn,

From me her bodies most perfect adroit,

A silver lining savior at her cue.

I will fight his quite anhedonic droit.

Though in her antic dirty soul he makes due.

Maybe one day she will truly see me, 

The true love...the one whom is better than he.

(Sonnet in Iambic Pentemeter (Kind of sketchy))