Broken Sonnet

I could regain my senses, but what fun would that be? You
you you. I hesitate to push, pull, or prod the mechanics in my mind—
that red button that would stop you from coming back to it.
I could cut the longlorn bunk and regain my senses, couldn’t I?
I could be alighted as a canary, perched without the memory
of your hands cuffing me with love—but what fun would that be?
I haven’t got any time for canaries, no desire for any of the avian
few that dot the low branches or the ferry’s railing. It’s in that blue
I think about you. You you you. I could regain my senses, but.
The blue distance. A red button. Your hands cuffing me with love.