Friday, January 15, 2010


"Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom."
--Shakespeare Sonnet 116

That breaking lesson purchased and forgotten
creeps between time's appetite, keen
like maladies eager, appealing every sense
shaken, unknown, fair past reason
music, without name, disgrace, full of blame.
Bliss, once proved straight
Th' expense of spirit in a waste of shame
breathless living lips blush, a gentle gait.
False, or foul sweet fingers sound
doubting impediments prove, urge, accuse.
Accidents dream in red, delight cruel
raven eyes surmise, wandering slander.
What with bold reason hated
Ever perfumed, only pleasing, faded.

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