Sonnet I: Love Song

Shalt Cupid be blamed thou doth dominate
Dwelling in days and nights with dignity?
With this self as my only best comrade,
I treasure thy fancy as whate'er means beauty.
Mine own mind, too, art a stubborn seeker
And since wherein thoughts can roam
Thou, thee, thine art barely than farther,
Thus in them thou doth shelter, claiming home.
'Tis but to thee I once tremblingly sent
A three word parcel of premature sentence
Hence now I am presenting thee it again:
Robbed in th' simple present, unclothed of all pretense.
For like a noun needs an adjective,
Life without thee will dull be and naïve.