Sunday, April 29, 2012

sonnet one hundred five

unwashed figures and
tainted souls bear
the grief and happiness
of this unfathomable us,

i seek not to resolve
the mystery of you now
as i have a lifetime
to devour everything

that creates and de-creates
all that you are,
hunting the indelible

flesh that you contain,
hungry for more,
with each second that pass.

No comments:

Post a Comment