Читать книгу #Sonnets - Lucien Young - Страница 19

Untender Tinder, how thou feedst my doubt

When thine erotic Rolodex I spin

And see each face congealed in fish-like pout

And ev’ry bio boasting love of gin.

Too oft my lust is cruelly thrown off kilter

When women of their basic pastimes shout,

Or else their beauties burden with that filter

That doth impose on them a canine snout.

And yet, alas, I vainly make this fuss:

I still shall swipe, albeit with teeth gritted,

And, though I may refrain from Tinder Plus,

I wholly lack the fortitude to quit it.

For I prefer to burn in Tinder’s hell

Than e’er approach a lady IRL.