Thursday, March 5, 2015

Can't We Call This Love? (A Sonnet)

My thoughts wander from this to that, from hope
To loneliness without respite, and still
I can't untangle love's unruly rope
And master it to my uncertain will.
So now I start to think, if day and night
My aching flesh and wayward reason find
Their way repeatedly to you, despite
That their inconstancy has made them blind,
Then can't we call this love, and make of it
What joy we have in this brief interval,
When we are not yet angels, celibate
Though caught in raptures far more rational?
  For days without your voice seem like a waste
  Of sunlight, like ripe cherries without taste.

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