Sunday Sonnet [To Start The Week], #2, 2015


I spoke; you laughed.  I raised my voice.  Foolish

to have thought you’d understand my viewpoint.

We were never meant to be; the disjoint

between us like venom.  This poison dish,

my heart, meant for another.  Oh, you wish

we’d never been; yet hope – dream – to anoint

a bond wholly true.  You want to appoint

a time past, in which to repair.  A kiss

for wounds of now; a hug, a hold, to grasp

in arms so strong a body firm, undone

by sudden display of spirit gentle.

A look, a brush of fingers; warm breath – I gasp.

This touch, this moment, I’ll cherish: mental

picture to smile at when left all alone.



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[Copyright N R Nolan © 2015]