Sonnet on Friday Nights
On friday nights, I feel as if the world
Is so intense and fragile it avoids
My clumsy hands. I listen to the noise,
Alone, my ear pressed tight against the door.
To hear the snap, the rustle, the dull thud
Of heavy buttons dropping to the floor.
My own heart, so unsteady and unsure,
Sends rattles through my frame. I know I should
Lie down across the room, and go to sleep,
But I've held sin against my naked skin,
And felt the beating heart of it therein -
What point in seeking virtue? So I keep
My ear upon the panel, and what's more,
My hand, upon the knob of the unlocked door.
3 comments:
There is just so much emotion in your poetry, Jason and it never ceases to hit me so hard every time I read it…yet another amazing one. Thanks for sharing it with us.
What Chris said.
I had to read this several times; each time the image resolved itself differently. The third time, shades of Fingersmith.
Mr Christ - Thank you, I'm glad you enjoy it. I realize I typed Mr. Christ, now, but I'm leaving it.
Trapunto - Fingersmith, that's very interesting. I'm honoured.
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