Is it merely a hand
Nary very different from mine own hand?
What maketh it so different?
Tag Archives: Beauty
Sonnet III: Sublime
Express, shall I, what nature, perfect, is?
Thine every fibre, doth it answer me;
And giveth, every answer, what thou wilt;
But shalt thou, my reflection, never be.
So shall my sweet surround, make perfect bliss;
Thine answer’s twist doth make mine arms surround;
And maketh gather up, and without guilt,
Again, to make this circle thus abound.
I promise then, that wheresoever this,
Our passion, taketh thee beyond the world;
Thine answer, sweetest, never to be spilt,
No matter, gathered up, where art thou hurled.
Wherever then, I pledge, that dost thou sway;
So fast, mine hold, wilt not thou twist away.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 3: Instinct
Every twist and turn
Makes me hold you more tightly.
You can’t get away.
You know you are safe.
No matter where you may go.
I have to hold on.
Twist and slide, knowing
That I can always find you.
You can not get lost.
We are made this way.
Like hand and glove we are made.
That’s how well we fit.
Sonnet II: Inspired
So hot within, and burning of its own;
Can this exist? Such mystery! So much
Doth this incalesence my hand alight.
Do this I feel? Or this I thrill to touch?
Such taste! Once cool, luxuriantly grown!
Now serous, thawed, deliciously beset;
And dripping wild implore, and sweet delight,
This form doth crave me, sybaritic, wet:
As poised, and shook, reverberating! Prone
Beneath my fingers: arch, and push, and curve;
And sparkling like crystal with excite,
So shot with lightning’s fire, every nerve…
Then cool… this down of twilight, quiet shone;
Where she is mine this night, and mine alone.
- For Lady Day
- And, of course, to My Sweetest Love
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 2: A Thing of Beauty
Sonnet I: Alighted Grace
But sleek, one shape as wondrously soft,
More perfect in its drape than might one think;
And such, should be perfection held aloft,
That by this, would its height so make one sink.
For perfectly it thwarts ones every thought;
So pliant-smooth it courts by its design,
That brought so every instinct as it ought;
Requires nary thought to intertwine.
More alien than truly might one guess;
As fell another species though from sky;
Alighted grace, such beauty as would bless
The altar of my sleep, this place whereby,
As master and as slave, I feel anew;
Each moment strave my every wish come true!
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 1: Eve
From thy rib, He made–
More natural and dare-say far more pleasing–
Perhaps too, life’s proper side.
David Emeron: Sonnets 