Sonnet (written at a poetry evening)

Shall I compare thee to a winter’s night?
Thou art more frigid, and more obdurate.
After that weekend on the Isle of Wight,
Ten minutes with you would be too long a date.
You looked so hot - I thought you such a find!
But sadly learned my every hope was dashed
When every time I kissed you, you declined,
And told me that you feared for your moustache.
My memories of summer will not fade;
I’ve put the pictures on my Facebook page.
Too late, my love, your reputation’s made -
A war on your good name I now shall wage.
So long as people surf the Internet,
Thus long will last your shame, and your regret.