My excuse?
                            —  I
                                  never learned
                                  to write a sonnet proper.

Marsh and Cope
lovers locked in embrace
took it upon themselves
to make each other great
by destroying what they had
all the while
mapping new life with old bones.

I occasionally
skip a beat
just
to watch you falter.

Should the earth die
a touch to make times stay,
a soft voice waiting, looking,
room for a kiss.

We stand at a great door
the moon's arms our friend,
our bed running beauty,
believing we're at sea.

O happy morning!
To help us understand,
this last night's song,
when men lay staring at stars.

This, a touch will do.

A sigh transforms
a breath into
a rainbow of meaning.