Phosphoresce: A Sonnet
by: James Schwartz
Among his most favored night-time toys
Absinthe, liquor and phosphoresce hair frost
Of all my dream lovers and phantom boys
In reality I’m easily lost
Laughing, intoxicated he will baste
Brown bottles of luminous fire-fly
Anointing his head with celestial paste
Of stars liquidated into hair dye
He is always reckless in his passion
Blithely flinging raver clothes on my bed
As if he’s going out of fashion
A passing diversion until he’s dead
Taking, embracing me until we glow
The colorless mornings drift by so slow.
Jim Rovira said:
Man, that was great. The only thing that threw me a little was “slow” in the last line, but if you’d written “slowly” what would you rhyme it with? Glowly?
Great poem.
Jim
August 19th, 2008 at 11:19 am