Sonnet: Of Poets

What can you know of people you don't know?
Here we chat, we flirt, we argue. Suffer. Whine.
Yes, we connect, but only partially. Sometimes
we're close, sometimes we're not. Just goes to show
the importance of embrace, of touch. How
just to see your face would seem so right—
or his, or hers. Lives so connect on sight.
We're visual creatures, and as such, are low,

but nervy, interested, often pervy,
founts of jealousy and doubt and more
gossipy than older maids. At end we are
poets, and our verse can be very good or
simply bad. We write. We write of sex, of war,
of flowerpots, of how lemons prevent scurvy.