When love's swelling wound is by conscience pricked And all the propping stilts like lily stalks Are with comic's timing out from under kicked, What is left that may be bandaged by our talk? 5 Attraction's balloon, which gave us mild rise, Has had all its static power neutered By our cross looks, and no new-issued sighs Come lowing from our bellows here abed. Our tender wide swaths of kind regard 10 Are stapled through by compelling argument Until we, bloody-fingered, but prop shards Against the next assault on our separate sinking tents. Still, when I feel you lying here, I think There's fire in us yet to swell our loves 15 And all our rubber war of hatreds shrink.
From the collection "XXX Sonnets"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.