You
whet a soul, to strike desire, to whittle a life. I’m more
for
horrified, whelmed in madness, a web of small needles.
I
strive for love, an easy task, to feel you as my muse.
There’s
a light, a gentle vox, a tender weal; but you live
for
night, a woman split, to unsay an oath. We wrestle lies,
soon
seduced, ripe for vows. I chase you south, to follow
north,
headed westbound. Its unrest, plus, exhilaration,
falling
nigh a seashore. You rage unnoticed, for such to
rain,
nearly unknit. I finally give, to court a smile, while
chopping
fruits. You pinch a nerve, a living sonnet, fraught
with
travail. Days swoon with passion, a surgeon of love,
trekking
through sludge and fens. It’s ever a dream, a
woman’s
dowry, an unreal tint. We’re girt with trials, trapped
in
a locket, bonded in love. Such to hike, fully wretched, in
love
with sequences. I call your name, to witness honey,
to
feel an aglet. It’s ever to freedom, to pencil love, asearch
for
ink. You whet a soul, to stress a heart, to whittle a life.
