Three More Sonnets

I am getting a kick out of the limitations, the discipline in choosing the right phrases to fit the structure. No one reads other people's poems (even writing poems is seen as effete or some sort of self-indulgent pseudo-intellectualism), but posting here fits the rules I blog by, so...

BTW, is using the phrase "self-indulgent pseudo-intellectualism" a sign of self-indulgent pseudo-intellectualism?

Can it have been called love after it ends;
That mad vitriol between enemies
Or the sad transition to that of friends?
When that last dire spit of hot venom sees
The grave-deep truth of blind recognition,
Do we finally, truthfully, admit
“One love” was a foolish assignation?
Or is this a murder we don’t commit?
In time, yes, that charming photo yellows,
Memory lightens, and poison mellows.
But my heart’s desperate pride, I notion,
Will never confess misaimed emotion.
But someday, True Love will make its demand,
So that gun has been aimed here in my hand.

I have yelled to the cold night wind, screaming
As it howled back. In waters, I have sunk
To the bottom and pled for love, streaming
The air out of my lungs. In deepest drunk,
Alone, I have shouted, “Come to me, now!
Come to me,” writing in the wisp-like air
My angry “why” and my sincerest vow.
I offered up this: my Loneliness Prayer.
My heart clings to this joy of self-pity:
From gothic nihilism unimpaired!
You only passed me in proximity.
With only silent darkness, have I shared.
Who knows how much better I might have fared,
If just once, I spoke up when I was scared?

I’ve been told not to tie myself to you,
But your scissors cut the tangled, dull thrum
Of my heart. I weave your dark body through
Every spinning dream. Your raveled hum;
Here is my thread’s beginning, and my end.
We unwind our love in secret places.
I never spill secrets, or call you friend,
But I see your shroud on other faces.
Please, unknit me a night quilt for your bed.
Sew your lips to mine; I will never leave.
I admit my love is unsung, unsaid,
But uncoil me, please, and you will believe.
Though you string me up my life to suffer,
I pin my hopes to you, and no other.