CLV (the thirteen line sonnet)
"CLV"
Fenland and heathland, someone once did say,
Are places where greenery do turn grey.
The gleam in your eyes will surely fade,
And your bed of violets remains unmade.
Feathers float, freely o'er face and fingers,
I reach, then, grab! while the softness lingers.
You wake; I startle and the crown of your head
Touches mine, as you sit, turning me to lead.
Responsively, backward you fall from me,
To observe me bettter; your eyes widen,
Sweep o'er me, the ranging seas of Poseidon
Possessing hearts of which you have before seen,
Breaking mine soundly, vaguely as a dream.
~*~
30/11/08