Friday, November 09, 2007

touché


As iron sharpens iron, so are we:
Our wits, our words, our wills are often caught
In swordplay; leaving both sides overwrought
And out of breath, though neither claim defeat.
Some might find us brazen, not so me
Although our love is oft a lover's knot
We burnish one another's sully spots
In light of an alliance yet to be.
For now, I rest my head upon your chest
Until the cadence of our hearts are one,
My fingers and your own create a nest
Until the warmth of both have been outdone,
I step towards the steps that you request
Until a greater fusion has begun.

6 comments:

Anonymous said...

Did you write that yourself? That's pretty good.

Although I always considered Andrew's wits closer to a dull spoon than a sword...

Andrew G said...

Beautiful sonnet, my love.

I like the volta: it's more of a pause then a turn to a new though... almost a deep breath waiting for the plunge.

Yummy words.

Sarah-Aubrey said...

Thanks, Anonymous.

However, I'm pretty sure the compliment was canceled out by the stab to my boyfriend's wit.

Anonymous said...

A stab to the wits.
That has to hurt.

Kate said...

Anon is mean.

Sarah that should be included in Moss Green.

nikolas said...

I'm impressed. We searched for it on Google to find out who wrote it... only to discover that you did.

And I cut my finger on a spoon once.