Epistemysics

Some theatre each day keeps the doctor away…

Sonnet 5

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Would that this wholesome bed be cratered more,
With thrums from warmths of furnace limbs combined;
This pillow’s dent your extra cheek should store,
And snatch the trace of sweet scents left behind.
But leave, e’en now?  How time my thoughts quick-leap!
Let ‘come’ and ‘afterwards’ be shot away;
Us shepherds must recensus darkened sheep,
And seek black wool until our blinds fail day.
Such cruelty is sprung when you are gone,
And fears a slip of mine’s returned your guard;
So come and strip these doubts that I’ve got on,
And let not hopes of glist’ning calls fall hard,
Nor let a lack of rest excuse these ploys,
For what we lose in sleep we gain in joys.

Shakespeare has his Procreation sonnets, and I have my get-laid-after-midnight (ie booty call) ones.  Yep.  Wrote it in a church, too.  (I actually did write it in a church.)  But, you know, the narrator could be married, so it’s all above board.  (And that’s precisely what I’ll be telling myself in the waiting line in hell.)  (Because hell has a waiting line.)

Good lord – reading it back again – what a filthy little ditty it is.  (And if you don’t think it’s filthy, dear reader, then you’re not getting all the puns and double entendres.)  (Plus its volta is a bit non-existent.  But that’s more on the technical side of things.)

Finished Die Walkure tonight.  Very good, very good.  Onto Siegfried!

I should cuss in a sonnet.  Yes, I might try that next time.

45/whatever.

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Written by epistemysics

August 6, 2013 at 3:22 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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