Sonnettics

I am my song; I’m beautiful to sing
Although, I know, sometimes my notes are flat
Like birds announcing morning, when they bring
The dawn; I hope my song will come like that
I want to be a lullaby to you
Come, fall asleep within my melody
My song is sung while you are dreaming too
I hope your dreams are musical, like me
I’m not a hymn, but angels like to hear
My song; I’ll try to make it worth their time
I love it when an angel draws me near
And tells me that she finds my song sublime
I want to be in harmony with life
And sing my song in joy and never strife.

I know she feels my pain; I love her choice
I know she feels my joy; I love her more
I hear the constant love within her voice
She knows she chooses words I won’t ignore
And yet, she doesn’t choose them just for me
She chooses them because she knows they’re true
Her voice displays her heart exquisitely
With colors that her loving words imbue
I’ve touched the silken fabric that she chose
I’ve never felt such softness bearing strength
Her fabric is the warmth of my repose
To feel it, I would go to any length
And yet, she gives her love to me, like this
She wraps my heart, then lingers for a kiss.

Gewürztraminer doesn’t taste as sweet
As Riesling, but it tastes like wine that knows
The way to make a poet’s night complete
By altering the way his sonnet flows
The alterations trapped within his glass
Taste richer than the words he likes to use
He’s drunk enough to kick somebody’s ass!
But writing is the act he’ll choose to choose
His rhymes will flow like grapes that have been pressed
And left to fermentation’s witless voice
His metaphors and similes are stressed
And yet, he has to drink; he has no choice
Unless he wants the words around his head
To fly away tonight while he’s in bed.

She gives me more than light, to start each day
Without Her, everything is dark and cold
I love it, when She chases clouds away
And turns the sky a brighter shade of gold
Her golden sky protects my fragile clime
But still, I like to feel Her warmth, Her dawn
Each day with Her is new; they’re all sublime
She comes and then the night is simply gone!
I want to plant a garden, watch it grow
Beneath the love and grace of Sunshine’s care
Her flower is the sweetest one I know
Wherever Sunshine’s gold, Sunflower’s there!
Our garden will be full, my journey, done
And more than see Her light, we’ll feel the Sun.

I wish that I could wake you, skin to skin
I know you think you see the word I’ll use
But words won’t be the way that I’ll begin
To wake you.  There are other ways to choose
I watch you, as your dreams envelope mine
I love the way you dream of us; it’s real
I sit and watch you watching me, supine
I know your hand is placed where you can feel
My heart.  My heart belongs to you; it beats
In sync with your compassion and your care 
Your presence is the beauty which completes
The meaning of my life; you take me there
If happiness and joy can come like this
I’ll wake you to receive my morning kiss.

Her lips are like a wine, her kisses sweet
She tilts her head within my cupping hands
My fingers feel her neck; my heart will beat
As quickly as her passion’s pulse demands
To taste her lips intoxicates my soul
I want to drink her deeply; I will feel
The giddyness of losing self control
While knowing that her mouth, her lips, are real
There is no wine that ever will compare
With her sweet mouth when touching teeth and tongue
I wish I knew exactly when and where
Her lips were made and how they stayed so young
To taste her kiss is sweeter than the wine
We shared tonight; I want her to be mine.

From time to time I look below my thoughts
I sometimes find the depth of what I feel
Frustration ties my heart in ugly knots
As I express emotions that are real
Like anger, which conforms to bloody heat
Embarrasses my reason with its gore
Emotions unexpressed are incomplete
I think that’s what sonnettics may be for
My lack of sleep is marked by lack of dreams
The cords that bind my heart are things I’ve lost
No matter what I find or do, it seems
I’d rather cut the cords at any cost
I’m just a damn good poet, not a saint
Sometimes I’m like an artist without paint.

My Love is precious, rare, and incomplete 
I need to give my lover more and more
Her love for me’s the same and more; it’s sweet
Like sugar in my coffee, she will pour
Her love into my soul where it belongs
I’ll give her mine, like diamonds in a ring
We’ll dance to music from our lover’s songs
We’ll dance until we can’t, but then we’ll sing
The words of love are music to our hearts
She gives me hers; I listen; they are mine
The harmony and melody she starts
Complete my Love because she’s so divine
I only love my lover; I’m her man
I live to give the Love her heart began.