(010) Lonely Has It's Perks (Sonnet)
They met online, he claimed to be a prince -
by Leeanndra O'Lear
a never-married-freeweight-lifting prize.
Yet when they met she couldn’t help but wince;
his emails were a schmoozy pack of lies.
No shock of glossy hair adorned his head;
no hard, developed muscles lined his chest;
his 'youthful' face was drunken-stupor red
and 'handsome' in a horselike way, at best.
She cleared her throat and stammered: “Sorry, Rob -
I can’t go out..I've caught a nasty flu.”
He burped (a-yerp!) then snickered: “Not a prob -
My wife will be away next weekend, too.”
Take heed: avoid romance in cyberspace;
most chatroom gems are wretches face to face.