Fic: Sonnet to to 4.5
Written on something of a lark after draycevixen mentioned "Pros", "Shakespare" and "sonnet" to me in the same sentence. I think I had far too much fun writing this, and I do apologise for the sheer awfulness of it. *ducks and hides*


Title: Sonnet to 4.5
Author: Erushi
Format: A strange sort of sonnet and a little extra. (168 words)
Circuit Archive / Pros-Lib: Yes, please.
Slash/Gen: Slash.
Summary: In which Doyle wakes to find a note tacked to his mirror. Comes with a postscript.
Warnings: Badly written poetry, with many an apology owed to good ol’ Will Shakespeare.
Disclaimer: The lads ain't mine… which on reflection is probably a Good Thing.



Found prominently tacked to the bedroom mirror of one Raymond Doyle, causing much spluttering in the otherwise-empty flat, a silly smile, and a loud “Bodiiieeee!!”:


Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art lovely though far from temperate:
Thy scarlet curls spring like the freshest of hay,
’Specially in all places intimate.

From thy craggy face thy green orbs do shine.
Ne’er through years has thy gold complexion dimm’d.
All these I do cherish, for thou art mine,
Though thou tends to leave thy hair quite untrimm’d.

’Tis my hope that thy temper shall ne’er fade,
For when narked thou yields that fine pout thou ow’st,
Falling from lips I swear are heaven-made;
S’truth, with each kiss my fondness for thee grow’st.

For better or worse, I’ve loved thee from th’ start;
Come sickness or health, till death us do part.


=-=-=


Found the next morning on one William Andrew Phillip Bodie’s desk, discretely wedged underneath a packet of home-made bacon sarnies:


Wanker.

PS. I do.