i think i enjoy writing this series more than most
more than the subject’s piquancy
i can’t get enough
of viewing
humans
as
art
without
romantic
considerations
beyond friendship and aesthetics
these two things mixed in a curiously potent way
Tag Archives: Happiness
Sonnet I: Mirror
To feel my hand upon a shape, a form
I find familiar in its drape: though known,
It overwhelms my hand by touch alone,
Though sight and sound and scent and savour warm
Me to its thrill, its pleasurable norm,
And call me to its side. And I alone
May know I should confide in that I own,
And hence am owned by that which I transform.
I feel it know at once, as once I know
The day such stark perfection will arrive.
I know reflexively, almost as though
The figure in the mirror comes alive
And reaches out with anything but this:
A touch of any kind, except a kiss.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 1: A Wish
Most definitely
Take care, for what you don’t wish,
You might not receive;
And take special care,
For when you make no wishes,
None will be granted.
Sonnet VII: Helpless
So dark within this place, what is this grey
Like velvet fire that would my hand subdue?
Can this–such sweetest pliancy as may
Command my strength to helplessness–be true?
What should I from this helplessness construe
That further took my senses night from day?
Though ne’er would I this mastery through
Any means demand, excepting I obey.
I take what is demanded and delay,
As valiantly I must, what is my due;
And all this tempest, bid me on its way,
Is great in all it promiseth anew.
Much more thou knew’st than wouldst thou ever say;
Thy sweetness grew that burned my will away.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Sonnet IV: Her Hand
Yet lightly, and demure in size, doth touch
This hand, that doth caress unlike mine own.
Not slight, and yet not strong, but sure of such
As it commandeth, earnestly, then coy.
As teareth me away from my command
So might I fall, as willing, from my throne.
And dareth my resolve, that it withstand
Delightful magic, as it might deploy.
Its form, as true, yet different from its brother
Whom it, mercilessly, hath outshone.
Hath God imbued it, greatly, with another
Element, diverse, as would employ
Such ease–an action planned, would it postpone;
That please, from out thine hand, thy love enjoy?
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 4: What Touch
Is it merely a hand
Nary very different from mine own hand?
What maketh it so different?
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:
David Emeron: Sonnets 