A silk silver lustre drapes gently down,
Gracing the moment’s frame. But ladder stitched,
Hides the dowdy lens like a Pantone brown.
Misplaced among the masses’ chic, bewitched,
The lens nests, seduced by stiff zipper grilles.
Eagerly dormant, long and forgotten,
Poses a masked hunter, preserving stills.
A Snow White music box on soft cotton,
Displayed, she waits in a regretting fog.
Wind calms, caught in the fleeting, silk-warm rays.
Limbs waver, torn amidst the pulling bog
Of unintentional judgmental gaze,
And the vast, vermillion-rich, puffed billow.
Lapsed, the eye indents deep down the pillow.
Mar 5
Mar 5, 2026 at 10:24 PM UTC
A silk silver lustre drapes gently down,
Gracing the moment’s frame. But ladder stitched,
Hides the dowdy lens like a Pantone brown.
Misplaced among the masses’ chic, bewitched,
The lens nests, seduced by stiff zipper grilles.
Eagerly dormant, long and forgotten,
Poses a masked hunter, preserving stills.
A Snow White music box on soft cotton,
Displayed, she waits in a regretting fog.
Wind calms, caught in the fleeting, silk-warm rays.
Limbs waver, torn amidst the pulling bog
Of unintentional judgmental gaze,
And the vast, vermillion-rich, puffed billow.
Lapsed, the eye indents deep down the pillow.
This sonnet is a bit hard to interpret because I juggled too many different metaphors and references.
