Stabs at Sonnet #2

My muse and you are sisters, and for God!
Has ever such a likeness been described?
She can your pair of doe-brown eyes afford,
And steal the upturned rainbow of your smile.

And she your walk can mimic sway-for-sway,
Your shape, as fluid flesh, internalise,
Her laughter is your silent sobriquet,
Her wintry breath, from your lung
plagiarised,

She is your mirror; rather, would have been,
Were it not for your finger third from thumb,
For that is whence you sport a diamond ring,
While hers is nude, untouched by pearl or pomp.

Some bridegroom fortunate may hold your heart,
But unwed, you are ever mine bookmarked.

~•■•~