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.
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:
From thy rib, He made–
More natural and dare-say far more pleasing–
Perhaps too, life’s proper side.
Through turns and twists, an endless beat, we ran;
I’d spurn the mists, descend to meet with thee.
We’d turn a bend upon a stone, and we
Would earn an end, and on our own, began.
But for a while–and never knowing when–
Once more to smile, then time to go, it was.
Through turns, we twist, an endless beat, and us
Returned, we list, pretend, and meet again.
You’d wrest some rest from lies and flight, and stole
From me some paradise, not quite forlorn.
I took, from you, a measure of that sworn
A garden, too. You stole no treasure, whole;
But gave us shrift, though magical and brief.
Forgiveness gifts me gratitude, my thief!
of four or even five
the Rhymes trip, unbidden, along they go
I gave them no assistance
When hope’s last touch had, ever weary, left;
And never, solace opened up her arms;
Sweet dreams pervading comfort had been reft;
And fertile life had quitted of her charms.
Life, seeming ended, ever lingered on;
And pity choked her ever-ringing word.
It seemed as though I were a passing pawn
Unheeding of all joy and never heard.
When panic reared his dreaded mask, I had
To desperately seek to task this ache.
Instead, you offered friendship. (I was glad
To take whatever kindness I could take.)
Though first, it seemed your offering was small,
What magic, that you gave a gift at all!
so nice when I had
found you, seeming well, and even smiling
I was very happy then
David Emeron: Sonnets 