I waned the poem to suggest a sonnet that lacks a line just as the speaker lacks his love.
I have learned in the reclining chair, while the dentist mined deep veins of decay, how to transfer pain. The needled anodyne of novocaine is inadequate to allay the harrowing ache he engenders there. But not even by bending fingers until they pop or stabbing nails into the tenderest flesh can I get the dedicated ache to stop. Nor did my visit to another woman after the last set when her shift was done soothe the bruises on my heart that blossomed when you stole the sun.
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