Secret Sonnet #10

I do not want you, sir, truly I don't,
And I spend my precious free time thinking
Of other men besides you, and I won't
Beg, iambically, nor go drinking
Too much wine, crying over what is not.
My brain and my other parts are just fine.
But my anarchist breasts it seems, have got
A problem with this and they do so whine.
They demand you come and fondle them - now.
They complain they are aching for your touch,
They cry - kiss our hard nipples! - hear them howl
Inside my brassiere - oh this is too much!
Can my co-workers hear them from their cubes?
Shut up morons - what a pair of big boobs!

This is a very very silly sonnet indeed. I hope my artistic license is not revoked for this.