A sonnet cycle in production

Friday, October 24, 2014

Sonnet #7

Wearing ragged blue jeans doesn’t alter
Glowing cheeks and creamy pale skin. It seems
No matter how they clothe your beauty’s beams,
Graceful limbs strike careful poses. I falter
Briefly, caught in my pipe-dreaming. Crowds pass
My neutered state. I swim in murky masses
Crawling within concrete pools. Your tresses
Float, winding thru nether regions, harass
My stewed efforts. No coast looms before me
To go ashore. Your laugh propels my reach
For rungs of hopeful ladders. I find each
stroke more arduous than the last. If only
I can rise above treading tepid seas
I might enjoy your powdered, elegant ease.

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