139: A poem fires up photoshop. Excuse me.

A poem is a picture as my love well knows.

That your unkindness lays upon my heart...

Drown me out, kitten, dear heart, but don’t wound me, not

at this time, and never call me to justify what’s wrong.
Your good looks attract my enemies — your eyes,
glances aside — elsewhere but in my sight you overpower with your tongue

to kill me outright yet not by art. I’m defenseless.

I’m kidding. No pictures, please.