Sonnet XI: The Art of War

How strangely opposite our sameness then,
My friend; although I know thy form–as hard
As mine–not pliant, nor as soft, we men;
Nor sweet, as  fond our distaff we regard.

With toil, these untendered limbs are scarred,
That reach for thee, though laughingly, with force
To equal thine, as though we will have sparred–
Yet battle merely reticent remorse.

And, having long since made our peace, the source
Of this reserve has fuelled our desire;
And brought us far along our wicked course!
That we, forbidden wickedness, conspire.

And–battle, artistry, or sin–we choose
This contest both would win, or wish to lose.

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

Permalink

Advertisements

Kiss Me~Music Inspired | RL King:A Written World

Fold me into your deep embrace
I ask just once, I lower a mask, show a tender, timid face
A face of love and need and heart and trust
Ask for you once, before this moment scatters as dust

Lead me into a place of warm abode, a safety I’ve not felt
Into the places of you, I beg to melt
How a soul can feel this close to mine,
…inside, flushing heart through spine,
…slicing bone
Turning about in a turbine,
…mind, heart,
…spinning in high pitched tone

So lean into my breath and lips,
Flush with me, through all the colours that love shades and splits
While insides turn outward, and outsides in
Bring me close, to find we are both warm and safe within

Words have finished their paths, reached a scorching, fired end
Bring skin to skin,
…a heart thunders for every synapse that every nerve can send
This is what was written
…in every book since dawn of time
So now…not another word,
I need to make you…body and soul…mine.

 

Sonnet III: Take Thy Care

Above all, tend thy body, treat not cavalier
The vessel of thy mind and soul; for where
Thy foolishness, ephemera revere,
So ever, doth for each, the other care.

What providence might I impart of this!?
What bounty bring, avoiding such despair.
If not such caution, would I be remiss?
This wisdom, give I thee, beyond compare.

I yearn to tell the ease thou shouldst have won;
Or how simplicity wouldst bring thee bliss;
And wish thy time for these could be outdone–
Not lateness now these choosings reminisce.

Though ne’er may be these hands of time outrun;
So could thine ease much sooner have begun.

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

Permalink

Intro 3: Hindsight Observed

So simple are such
As would, effortless, give us
All our years; and more.

Permalink