They miss the closeness, all the traps of love,
They sometimes feel alone, or dropped, or left.
The single people. Logging in, in hope,
And hoping for a number next to "Mail"
Not always there. Their login names above,
Identities for those who feel bereft,
Inclined to cast themselves as ones who fail
And sit, logged in, still lonely, and they mope.
But that's just bad days. Those days can be turned
Around by just a nudge, a wink, a flirt
From those who want to Mingle Too, who've learned
To act, and now: we're long beneath the dirt.

And all they need is contact and a chance,
And that will keep us smiling as we dance.

Every write,,every word,,every attempt at speaking out , that which we feel inside,,,needs to be seen,and praised, as it is, but one minds find,,to BE.

How many sonnets do you get here? :/