In tears that germinate in ice-cold wine
you sought my mistress in the shadow’s dance
a demon born from absence and decline
of constant confirmations of romance.
When kisses were forgotten for finance
you sought another reason, not in bills
and in my eyes you sought a wicked glance,
affirming that I searched for other thrills.
“I’m not just ornaments and feeble frills”,
and suddenly creations of your mind
were present in our room I felt the chill
of carnivores and beasts — I had been blind.
You’re still my perfume-tiger, blazing source
I’ve found in you: my songs, my wells of force.
Today Kenia gives a formula of a love poem at Toads, and I thought that my 9th installment of my sonnet crown would suffice. Of course a sonnet have rhymes (this time Spenserian rhyme-scheme) and meter, there is for sure an obstacle, and the some imagery and mystery, brevity is maybe less, but a sonnet is not that long either, so I hope it fits the bill.
Previous sonnets: Bluebells, The tear of tears, Before the monsters, When we had built a nest, Let’s mend the bridges, Your icicles, Our highway through the sky and The emptiness of brine.
April 22 2015