Xerex, Coda: Here…

…will you find the first version as it had been penned originally so many decades ago.  The dotted lines have been added to indicate whence the sonnets come:

O, my sweetest love,
Share thou with me
The sweet Xerex

Which I do proclaim
As the nectar which
Returneth me to

Thee, my sweetest love.
Quiet my restless mind
With the still, sweet

Grape which is the
Blood of lovers and
Of conquerers.
—————————
Such is the stuff
That would quiet my
Mind and my heart

For thee, and ease
Thy pain easily
With a pure flavor,

And with little regret
From thyne Angels’ heart.
Remember thou, my love

That even in this
Cruel
Earth there art

Those elements which
Heal in their right
Proportions.
———————
Remember thou, my sweetest
Love, that many
Forms Are yielded

Up by the Fickle
Grape: The subjective
Grape yields

Up poison and
Medicine for the
Soul.
———————–
As Baudelaire, my
Father, my twin,
My dearest

Poet knew this drink was
Fine; so shall I
Proclaim: My sweetest

Love, As my
Devoted, As my
Servant, As my

Slave; bring thou
Me of the sweetest Xerex
Grape and I

Shall become returned
To that which
Thou most admireth.
————————–
But, that thou shouldst
Know:  Once I have To
thine arms return’d

Thou shalt be my
Wine and my
crystal.
————————–
Thou shalt be
Mine Angel–superior
To all the grape is

Able to be.
I shall thenceforth
Drink of thee,

My love and I
Should never again want
For wine.

Much has in me been yielded up by that fine grape so many long years ago.

Sonnet I: Throughout All Time

Throughout, within, the night’s surrounding warm,
Distraught of daylight’s merciless advance:
One hand to touch, though trembling, my arm;
One smile’s joy, one smile’s graceful dance;

One kiss sustains, one kiss throughout the night;
One touch through daylight’s cruel and bitter sting;
One tear, upon one cheek, what solace might
It bring, that touch and smile and kiss would sing?

What voice? What dulcet tone, such golden song
Should sing? What arm to lay me down to sleep?
What sweet surround my head to hold? So long
A Night I need–and warm–a bed to keep

Me safe, perhaps, if substance I may bring;
And heal–perhaps, or not–if love I sing.

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

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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:

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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:

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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.

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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:

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