Petrarchan sonnet from 5am
The body of your voice enlivens mine,
You speak me into secrets I can’t share;
Is it a crime to break what I’ll repair,
To sneer at what I’ll later make a shrine?
There’s nothing in our nights that is benign,
Your rogue caress is destined to impair
My watchful woman’s charm against despair.
Dismantled, I am supple, cheap, divine.
Disaster stands alone beside your bed,
She cautions me through curls of splendid smoke
Escaping from our lips like prayers unsaid;
The curse now cast we drink, kiss, play, invoke.
I stumble home enchanted by your eyes
And wonder which of us is in disguise.
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cvxn said:
Love it!
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zorica posted this
