Sonnet XI: I Promise

For Thou art she from whom my Manna flows
And Thou art she for whom I do exist
For Thee I have become a hedonist
For Thee Mine own Desire always grows

For Thou art She from whom my Love arose
And Thou art She with whom I do entwist
For Thee I live with Joy from tryst to tryst
For Thee I Write all Poetry and Prose

For Thee I undertake the mundane world
For Thee I go about my daily deeds
For Thee I show my inner self unfurled
For Thee I set aside all other needs

For Thee I Undertake the Pain to Learn
And Thee To Whom I Someday Will Return

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

Intro 11: Signature

When I think back through
Those many decades behind us,
I feel lucky and quite foolish
For as each passed by,
It made much more clear
That there was no circumstance
So burdensome that it should keep us
From the place, from the one,
Where we, both of us,

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Sonnet X: Sister

But cleft in twain my heart still yearns for thee;
I yearn to see the magic of thy smile;
I long to hear and see the dreams which we
Have always manifested; all the while

Denying to our other worlds the fact
That this discreet perfection had a name.
It lived, in every thought and deed and act
Which in our lives the other would proclaim.

It cannot be enough to kiss and hold;
For it is thee with whom I am in love.
I love not even life as much as thee.

I only dream of when I may behold
My sweet companion–whom I hold above
All earthly deeds–this sister who loves me.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

Intro 10: Bound

With thee
Closer wert thou,
Yet as a sister,
So hast thou ever been:
All our lives, protected us
With this sweet forever of thine.

Sonnet IX: Extremes

Can aught unite this nature’s pain and grace?
Can any magic unify these twain?
I wish to see the ending of this pain
Which lives eternal on thine ivory face.

Shall magic oversee to interlace
These two divergent themes which so profane
This wonderful ideal of our demesne
To depths of most unbearable disgrace.

My sister, will it ever be that I
Will have thee someday for my very own?
Or is this fantasy to justify
This perfect world which we have overthrown.

What kind of fools were we who ran away
From that which still we hope to have someday?

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Sonnet VIII: For Thy Rest

I would now that I might have been thy bed.
So dark a night it was that wouldst thou sleep
And, weary, rest–a child in my keep–
Upon my breast thy fair and frightened head.

And calm, indeed, to sleep as I have said:
No want or need forgotten whilst thou weep’
To heal thy soul. A drink of comfort, deep,
Would make thee whole again, my child, instead

Of being broke; to smile for me again
When next thou woke‘, and look into mine eyes;
And I would see my Sister gazing up
To smile at me–a smile I would prize
Above all pleasure. For, devoid of pain,
Would grace and measure ever fill her cup.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all: