When she’s still around, life is a movie;
Her presence a medicine to accelerate time.
The reason for romance is our mortality,
Smoky pipe dreams of flowers and wine.
She gives her comforts as timeless treasure,
The manic knots of desire unraveling.
Her thriving beauty: the look of pleasure.
Brief holidays we sat together, still traveling.
Her absence an exile, I idled for eons
In a feverish frenzy of physical yearning.
I thirst for her humor, a playground to play on.
In her interaction, I’m ceaselessly learning.
Her special stare seized me like a wolf’s wild call,
And aren’t we just animals after all?
That’s a sonnet I wrote for poetry class…
it was rushed, possibly needs rewording… or maybe it just needs to stay as it is
what do you think?