Sunday, April 09, 2006

Sonnet 2

Is love a thing you say? Is it built by words?
Perhaps it barely hears our woeful cries,
A piece of breeze flying on with the birds,
Who takes our dances, leaving us our lives.
Or is love eyes that can't stop looking?
A rush of pulse and quick little breaths,
A passion all yours that's never dancing
Long, a lesson in hope and guiltless sex.
Or is love what older people call their youth,
From forty years and fifty gins created?
You went away, that's my only real truth
Yet something keeps you inside my head.
I couldn't build a love, didn't know how,
I'll love you without love, starting from now.

Sonnet 1

Her legs are crossed, almost too chubby,
And naked shorts oh so tiny and brown,
Her blouse is pale and almost fits her tummy,
So on lovely thighs I go up and down.
As deep as I get, she never flinches
Her eyes don't lift from paper and pencil
No fingers in everywhere tangled tresses,
No sign she knows I use my whole will.
And ah, I feel so dried up and wretched,
Aware my hands will never clutch those tits,
I'll weakly watch and leave with nothing said,
Saying home is every hole my cock fits.
My leering words and pretend hunt for meats
Is how I stay warm in cold nightly sheets.