Sunday Sonnet: Matrimony

Before mature emotions come to plant
In me their sense or blindness, I will speak
This thought (no doubt condemned within a week).
I write this to my wife. Although I can’t
Behold you yet, I wish to tender this:
I want you to betray me. Find a branch
Of love that’s growing in the neighbour’s ranch,
And eat its apples sweet, and taste their kiss;
Forget me, love – and then remember me,
And weep, as fire weeps its cleansing tear,
Finds truth in guilt: by it we taste, we see,
We know what’s right, and do not simply ‘hear.’
In bondage we’ll remain forever free,
But if it’s love that binds us – love, not fear.