What wordy genesis haiku began
Expands to then iambic form as well;
And finally, a sonnet manifests.
Tag Archives: The Female Form (with introductions)
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:
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:
David Emeron: Sonnets 