SONNET

 

Such comely form, held in supple, nude skin
Bare legs, graceful neck, round shoulders and arms
Brushed by breeze-blown hair.  Where does one begin
to tell of her full-flower'd female charms,
Where does one end, having left nothing out?
Her eyes blue, blue, blue -- I'll show them to you.
They flare, beholding the sunlight, if out
and resemble the ghostly mistress moon
if not.  Long lashes -- long, indeed.  They are.
When she blinks they brush so gently, I swoon.
I faint, fool that I am; fools that we are!
We both are only one; we should be two.
   I have yet to begin; here is the end.
   To fill in the rest one has to pretend.

 

---jrw 7:58pm
4-7-96