Saturday, March 1, 2008

Rhetoric: Freestyle Poem

To what shall I compare thee, luv? a
“The lashes of your eye” were joy. b
Frail Baby’s Breath on sliding cliffs? c
An evanescent slide from fifths c
to sixths? Your flashing eyes and coy b
dark smile, your marbled veins in dove a
white skin upon the Arab, black d
as death and racing, stamping, lunging e
still bareback through the trees. And now? f
I’m haunted by your cheek, your hair. g
Your cat-scarred hands play with the air g
just out your window—I am fey. My vow f
lies broken, shattered. We are plunging— e
and you and I upon the rack, d
our life a beast, a dream, a haze of death, and down, h
the center could not, did not hold. Each night I sleep i
a dappled face, still lingering, in my mind, I keep, i
then humans wake, the phantom flies me, and I drown. h

Wodehousian Fun