I had a really dreadful
day at work, and so I came home and threw myself into finishing the sonnet I had
begun. Here it is in all its glory. I think it makes sense, but hopefully not too
painfully clever, and following the form still. Written to my forever love,
Martin.
Sonnet 32: Time’s Island
I gaze contentedly at
your face tonight
The lines drawn from
our life in the stormy sea
Your visage set determinedly
like bainite
Exposes your thoughts
for and against me
Honeyed words that
slide past my defenses
Dazzled and drawn,
nothing keeps me at bay
A rumba rhythm pulses,
our dance commences
Swirls create swells, an imposing display
Your hand brushes the
curl away from my face
My finger traces crinkles
in your sides
Our hands intertwined, come
home to abide
The wind upwelling
cooling down our boil
Thwarting storm’s fate, our strings ever entoiled
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