Theme Park at its Darkest

Your voice is a caress most definite

On velvet footfalls your words descend

The vertiginous staircase within my head

To take up mysterious residence

Modelling from the darkness a bower

Where meaning is resonant temperature

That blossoms across my eyelids into colour

A verdure of mysterious flowers

These flowers turn their faces narcotic

Toward the distant sun of where you are

With a febrile yearning in their motion

Reaching toward that place exotic

Whose voice describes a sunset-coloured shore

Whose windswept weave is salted with its ocean.

This entry was posted on October 3, 2019 at 8:58 am and is filed under Love letters, poetry, sonnet with tags Petrarchan sonnet, sonnet. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.