You know how it works by now! I write ‘poetry’ in whatever snatched moment I get! This ‘sonnet’ comes from a friend’s bathroom! It may be unimaginative but, hey, a sonnet’s a sonnet!
A silhouette is blocking the television,
and her breath is hot in the air,
turning winter into the promise of spring –
my neck is graced by her hair
and my hands are complimented
by her breasts and their white envelope.
Like a glass of wine would threaten to unman me, I am tempted,
to overpower her, to roll her into the mattress’ embrace
and scratch her skin and have her scratch mine –
to let the blood flow and mingle,
until we are one –
In body, as we are opposite halves of the soul.