Sonnet With a Line by Lorca (it's 11 lines, but that still doesn't mean it's not a sonnet!)

O balding head, O sheathing night,
tattered remains of toast and jam,
O unfinished business, sleepless light:
Napping the daytime, drawing maps
on a clenching hand, tight
for more reasons than love or art,
O dog in the heart, O Labrador of my bones,
I wear you as gift wrap, as a solid warmth
through my body. Lapping up
the water in the soup leftover, the
thirst is great and I find it satisfying.