Sonnet no: 4

Sonnet no: 4

Happiness is always mixed with regret. At least,

you'd think so, when life is bubbly, too much

passed the yard arm, too pressed, uncreased -

joy reaches erosion, into giggles, released, such -

is the stuff of love, this chemical interjection,

this quick plunge into attraction, all too pitchy -

this music plays too high, the ear in inflexion

catches the heart, into a beat, fast and kitschy.

A bad moment of should I? shall I? I should...

In love – sweet as a summer's day – my reflection

heralds a truth, complexion flushed, I could...

and hides the blasted truth, that love is invention….

Of the body's base needs to function. Time

directs us to obey. To Conquer creation sublime...