Baffling

desperance is the sonnet, but, to my surprise, I am a cywydd llosgyrnog:

A cywydd llosgyrnog; I'm one. "A what?" Well, quite. There'd be no fun In being understood; I Thrive upon obliquity. Don't comprehend or follow me, For mystery's my ally. What Poetry Form Are You?

and, even more bizarre, if I weren't a cywydd llosgyrnog I would be blank verse. Somehow I have managed to give answers which indicate that I am either exotic and mysterious, or just about as prosaic as you can be while still being a verse form.

Unusually entertaining questions, though...