Not Sonnet 130
NOT SONNET 130
My body is nothing like new Adonis born
In some men’s sock there may be delight
Though the fabric may be worn
But mine doth reek, especially late at night
If hair be full crops in the field
And men’s skin be smooth as silk
Then bare soil is my head ‘s yield
And my body-cover’s like sour milk
Some men’s feet are curved all round
With arches graceful, ankles perfect
My feet are flat to tread the ground
They shame my leg with all their defect
If this mess disbelieved be
Then you have never witnessed me
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