which tickles me pink

Caradoc took a distracted sip of his coffee before he managed to put his book down. Wadding his napkin up in his hand, he stood, making his way towards the trash bins. A few snickers followed, and his scowl deepened as caught sight of those at the tables around him watching. He gave his best glare, tossed his napkin away, and then— He caught his reflection in the window, undeniably far more pink than he remembered it being when he’d left the flat that morning.

“Un-fucking-believable.”

Yesterday on Facebook I saw Shakesbear, which tickled me pink! So, I wrote a Shakesbearean sonnet:


Shall I Compare Thee to a Honeycomb?

Shall I compare thee to a honeycomb?
Thou art more mellifluous and earthy.
Thy shape, full of the bounty of the loam,
Than any queen’s is far more praiseworthy.

I hear a ringing chorus in thy thoughts;
The buzzing hive bleats out a ceaseless drone.
And though the bees do pollinate the lots,
Thy labors hath our other fortunes sown.

Like wine, thy spirit’s flavors are complex;
The beehive’s cloying sugars strident sweet.
And safe am I to pay thee my respects,
While thwarting a bee’s sting I call a feat.

I love the sun-drenched, golden nectar-flow,
But thou art warmer still, and less hollow.