Tag Archives: Sonnets Every Day

Blinds

Your white dress billows like a jellyfish
plume, tentacle limbs askew, buffeted
by the windy waves beneath the surface
of my gaze. If I stare you down too long
you’ll drown the both of us, disrupt the thin
tension of our infinite possible
futures: look back and I might go under;
ignore my eyes and I might dry out on
this lovely beach and die; gently rock your
lifeboat hips in my direction and I
might forgo all metaphors, lose myself
in the depths of a wet speculation,
imagine it all in reverse, your words
a faint seashell whisper in the morning.

Piano

It is possible to live in pockets
of existence, with but within the shared
fabrics, not altering the pattern but
having an impact on the general
shape the world’s clothing takes, making it bulge
or tear or shake in unnatural ways,
affecting the sway of reality’s
hips, the curve of her waist, the outline of
her figure in a lover’s hands, her grand
universal silhouette. You may be
her small musician. You understand the
right notes to strike into humanity,
and you play them from her pocket until
she decides she’s listened to you enough.

Cookie Sheet

There is something in the charity of
love, the unexpected, that is ruined
in the asking. We are not masked heroes
waiting on a cry for help, but pious
nuns, attending only to the humble,
refusing all impertinent requests,
giving not giving when it’s demanded.
It expands to all gestures—embraces;
passionate relations; end of workday
massages or baths drawn, candles lit and
room scented; breakfasts, lunches, dinners, and
desserts—anything that makes a life hurt
less. So long as it remains unexpressed,
unasked for, we give all our hearts and more.