Shall I?

Should I compare you to a summer's day?

You're hot, and you bug me.

If music could speak for love, and explore all of its inner workings

I'd play the bag pipes for you.

It's unfair to call the instrument unskilled or uncultured,

but I don't know who enjoys it.

You constantly occupy my mind

like an invading army occupies a country.

Your presence warms me;

I'm not a reptile so I end up sweating profusely.

All of these things are all I can find to say

when we've spent time together like we have.

Music begins to wear on you when played too often.

Movies lose their edge when watched too many times.

You're my favorite nuisance;

I'd prefer to be annoyed by you than "better off alone."