Oh fair maiden, hear my quill as it dances tipsy ‘pon this page,
In the moon’s soft gaze, my tongue wags heavy, yet earnest in its rage.
I prithee, dearest love, do not think me mad or mere fool,
For in my heart's tempest, still doth your absence make me cruel.

Oft do I roam these shadowed halls, haunted by memories of thee,
Where every whispering wind dost seem to sigh thy name to me.
Thine eyes, twin stars in night's embrace, have set my soul alight,
And in this drunken reverie, thou art my day, my night.

Perchance I stumble o'er words and lines, like a ship tossed on the sea,
Yet know, sweet siren of my heart, it is still thou I wish to see.
For in this ale-drenched stupor, truth doth reveal its face,
I need thee still, my fair one, to fill this empty space.

So take these rambling verses, penned with love and wine,
And know that in my heart’s vast realm, thou art forever mine.
I bequeath to thee my longing, my breath, my life’s own flame,
For in this drunken sonnet, thou art the only name.
© poembyselly