sonnet #1,627

(The characters in the following sonnet are
fictional and any resemblance to Adam and
Eve would be purely coincidental.)

Time has inlaid my love's kind face all lines,
And wrinkles, has dried out random jots,
Her eyes once so enlarging, look small knots,
Her lips once turgid, seem deep crimps by tines.
I glance at gilded hairs, my heart so pines
For shorn abundance, gland delivered shots
Of golden, lost in clippings, tinfoil clots,
Think what a waste a raw wig over mines.
My tidy twenties had me still growing bones,
My failing forties tweaked me teenage hair,
So wild and crazy, growing with zest out zones
Of back and brows and nose and either ear.
Immortalise a muse, the chances slight?
A score of years on, my bones fresh, I might.

(Chorus)

o slight
o precious
o rare

sonnet #1,626

They tell that you're immature, act on whim,
They tell that you're spontaneous, you disarm,
But you enchant me through selective charm,
Ambiguously, ambivalently prim.
You're by turn both luminous and dim,
You're humorous upholding, hurting balm,
You're timorous intruding, feuding calm,
With tears of joy, of balefulness, you brim.
A fingernail black bruise, which lasts so long,
By clipping calendar grows, ends in edge,
The carbuncle on cuticle, plain wrong,
Disgresses from engagement ring big hedge.
As you've been clumsy cute, and aired a cuss,
It's something you can trip past, toxic fuss.

(Chorus)

o cuss
o oathe
o swear

sonnet #1,625

I'm touched if you're so troubled, jealous just
Of him, my kissing cousin; what a thrill
As you stormed from the room to fume and chill-
Shows there's more depth to you than driven lust.
Though I can't say as much yet, I've now sussed
Your heart, keep smiles at bay; abetted still,
My heart beats faster, fathoms plumb your will,
And what you'd give, and if you'd bluff to bust.
No, I won't tell you terms of our small chat,
Your welling tears are wasted, weakly plead
That I avoid him first, then fault him flat,
But faults as found are finely grained indeed.
I most regret the quickest kiss on lips,
Off him for you, the ginger handshake grips.

(Chorus)

o lips
o brims
o margins

sonnet #1,624

They sniff at our being young, say, you're unfit
For true love, when that's truly otherwise;
They didn't stop to spot us portrait size,
It lashed us mores we'd usually admit.
A globe has gone and we're left grime and grit,
Old nuclear family-power fob-off lies;
We neither pity them this nor despise
As high divorce rates count ourselves a hit.
Our love will last at least one century,
In health, in sickness, by swaddled stem cell,
Through peaks of plenty, troughs of penury,
In megalopolis we'll love, we'll dwell.
Eternally, though, we'll try right their wrong,
Their ignorance well meant, we'll string along.

(Chorus)

o wrong
o falsehood
o sin

sonnet #1,623

Contrarian, as I've got her, bag in box,
She'll take a tangent line and twist a trait,
Her arguments plumb then ameliorate
Our moods conversed - if moved by me, she mocks.
I loved her style, her knee high stocking socks,
The backless blouses beads and eyes hold straight,
The retro chic of french berets not late,
Yet when I praised, she said, rough as rocks.
And if I say how sad she looks, she'll smile,
And say, no, so far off the simple truth,
And then dispatch to me her giggling guile,
Or punch my shoulder softly, cloying, uncouth.
She warms too close or far off, winks a blink,
I'll puzzle her out presently, I'd think.

(Chorus)

o blink
o flutter
o tremor