~Just A Sonnet~Your eyes are like the pin of a grenade, That piques my errant finger till it blows And rends me into jellied marmalade That to your lips' smooth unction gently flows. Your hands are like a balm in gentleness, Yet like a bomb to wit besot by wile; To whit, while smitten by your soft caress, My beaten leathern soul takes babe's soft smile. And so I understand why that hard Greek, His blooded spear propped briefly at his side, Grew certain we are twinned and ever seek The bride her husband-self, the man his bride. For each alone is like a single oar: It pulls and pulls, and yet it moves no more. Back to Poems |
