Wednesday, May 30, 2012

sonnet one hundred nineteen

the rubble seething with passion
for a thousand and one nights
embellished light that glow in
the midst of this lunacy

the air crazed with the scent
of you and me, remembering
the feel of your skin - a notion
never abstract but defined

and exact, the seduction ever
more forward, hunted and incensed
by a dense and dark delight

for the languor my body
is cloaked with, our crimson
days ending with a love devoured.

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