So, my partner asked me to write her a poem about her (extreme) love of Benedict Cumberbatch and all his works. My other attempt headed off somewhere very dark and archetypal, so I haven't handed that over to her. Here, instead, is a triolet (because I figured that the repetitive structure suited obsession well...).
I cup the face that sprang from dreaming,
Those cheekbones cold beneath my palm
Soft-bitten lip to stifle screaming
I cup the face that sprang from dreaming,
Those gelid eyes of green unseaming!
The best advice is to stay calm...
I cup the face that sprang from dreaming,
Those cheekbones cold beneath my palm.
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