Feb 2012
The soft, sparse sunlight spills through the curtains
and approaches me the glow of flitting fireflies,
fond as a lover's hand running the islands
of your face - the ****** morning it baptised.
How sunlight and skin, intangible and tangible,
dances on each other flirtatiously, tickles.
For a few moments I sleep bound in a curl,
like a child experiencing what joy could be.
But as the minutes trickled by,
the loving caress too trickled into a beating,
beating itself on the chest of mine,
oh, sunlight - you were still gentle this morning.
Alas! - all things are sweet in its mornings,
but time will tell the truth come evening.
and approaches me the glow of flitting fireflies,
fond as a lover's hand running the islands
of your face - the ****** morning it baptised.
How sunlight and skin, intangible and tangible,
dances on each other flirtatiously, tickles.
For a few moments I sleep bound in a curl,
like a child experiencing what joy could be.
But as the minutes trickled by,
the loving caress too trickled into a beating,
beating itself on the chest of mine,
oh, sunlight - you were still gentle this morning.
Alas! - all things are sweet in its mornings,
but time will tell the truth come evening.
My very first sonnet! Ever woke up early to find the sunlight gentle, so gentle that you sleep and enjoy the sunlight? And moments later it becomes so harsh - you can't sleep? The poem was inspired by that! Thematically, it is encapsulated in the final two lines - things are always sweet in its early hours, but turn ugly with time. (Sometimes.)
