(An exercise to write a sonnet in iambic pentameter)

With heavy heart, I offer my remorse,
for I'm too tired to dance this weary eve.
The echoes of my workday's tireless chores
linger, leaving naught but fatigue's relief.

Oh, believe me, I hate to disappoint,
for the music tempts me to sway and dance.
But the hours I've toiled, each task and each point,
have drained me to a tired nudnik, perchance.

My spirit, once bright, now longs for respite,
to find solace in rest and heal my self.
Though my love for dance burns hot like cordite,
exhaustion demands I stay on the shelf.

Forgive me, my friend, tonight I must rest,
but once refreshed, we’ll fete and dance with zest.

this sickening feeling is easy to return to
like caffeine sinking a hole in my stomach.
I thought I was earning a thicker-skinned future
but it gives me more extreme things to get high from.

sometimes I figure I’d make a good escort
yet just want another soft place to land on.
my eyes glaze over at all the disgusting
pieces of others. i gorge them like peaches.

some days laughing seems unsightly don’t it?
will you still love me if i lose my temper
or how would it change me? the scent of vanilla
is more pungent than I can stand.

I will drink anything sweetened which calls me
I can resist anything til I try it.

You are such a faithful mirror i stand
Close to see myself as best i can. Which
Is hard to do with both eyes closed in such
Fierce a fashion as is my habit and
Pattern. But here and now this you and i
Walk affirmed to one another without
Twisting our minds to suit and please the thoughts
Trailing mud arisen from the rank sty
Of selfishness in the so called other.
Some may see a forced bond with jostling dance.
Let the blind bang their heads in ignorance.
United in chords of friendship freer
Than life, or death perhaps, we move between
The narrow gates to search for hell, and heaven.

Oh still-warm vision of my heart's delight,
Your crusty, crunchy skin and doughy heart,
Your sweet aroma with tears blurs my sight,
And makes me yearn to taste your every part.

My doctor says you'll be the death of me,
Blood sugar and triglycerides too high,
But I don't care, for my love sets me free,
And of one thing or other we must die.

Come, spend some time with me, bask in my love,
The simple pleasures are the best, one knows,
We're meant to be, we fit like hand in glove,
The more I have you, the more hunger grows.

Alas, I cannot live with only you,
Charcuterie and wine are vital too.

White feathers of snow tufts
plume themselves upon icy branches
marred by frost's biting advances,
stoicly waiting to be sloughed.

Rainfall in a torrential downpour
crashing upon all of the branches
cascading waterfalls of second chances—
again and again, drop to the forest floor.

Sparking flickers of light through clouds
can only barely illuminate the kestrel
that finds fit to prey on the sparrow I let slip.

Midsummer draping me in a lethargic shroud
swaddled around heart and lungs to slowly settle,
the lucky charm momentarily escapes my grip.

Oh, how quickly does the moon reach the sky?
Made thy dwelling in the wide blue yonder;
Cold summer night limbers up without try;
The ether opens wide, to thee it grows fonder
Revolving in an eccentric orbit,
Desolate beauty of magnetic depth;
More captivating than thousand comets,
Making the earth livable is thy strength
Yet thine existence is causing the tides,
Waters and rocks rise and fall in each pull;
Creating rhythm and chaos inside
Oh how swift is the glide from full to fool?
Since earth holds thy not, slowly drift away
Howbeit, memories to the core shall stay.

My heart skips a beat at a baseball cap
Or at a lone runner, dressed only in black.
Cool-colored curls trapped under a hat
Or tied, cascading across your back.

I’m a fan of mischievous smiles as well;
Glowing complexions put me in a spell.
Habits that show someone wants to rebel,
Or parting gifts during a quiet farewell.

Low voices with gravelly tones
Or pacing after you’ve picked up the phone.
Analytical gazes when something’s not known,
Contained frustration while sitting alone.

These features are lovely in others, it’s true,
But most importantly, they comprise you.

I’d rather make something else
than ever acknowledge it was less than perfect.
“Self-improvement” rings of greedy influencers.
Constant change that of
a flaky millennial who won’t admit she cares about you
who’d prefer staring in the rearview
and changing her hair a third time.
it’s difficult to find this urge to make things better.

Isn’t it odd
that one of the most traditional institutions creates countercultural niche-ers?
Locked up in libraries with products newer than scars
holed up in memories of a better way
re-creating what anyone has said before.
Seems I am one of the prideful.

feels like dark chocolate on my tongue
        smooth nibs butter fruits solid   wine,   mine,
            slowing me down with a crash.
Like,
    the time loop with each instance equally delicious
in
    cream clamor of daylight, hid from yesterday’s enticements
        pinned feathers mark me
           an approved rebel. I hope
zest
    not too bitter, a pairing
       fresh taken in sharper soothing
         trappings of a recipe too small
            all I can do is say it sincerely.