You carry in your wildness scent of moonlight
and in your breath is blossom and the songs
of graveyards, you are both the taste of night
and awkward singe of all forgotten wrongs.
You’re taste of dew, of warmth of steel, of burns
from frost on apple blossom boughs in May.
And you’re the best of me, the dissonance of ferns
whose listless fronds uncurl on days too grey.
You both corrode and mend me darkly lit
from candles, velvet thrusts and acid blades.
You talk in purple but subside in grit,
You’re black and white; but hued in sunlit shade,
until asleep you pass, and walk with dreams
as smiles of rainbows grace you slightly beamed.
Today Mish hosts Poetics at dVerse and urge us to use our senses in many different and surprising ways. I thought it was time to write a sonnet again after keeping my pentameter at bay for a while. Com join us at 9 Pm CET.
May 15, 2017