Ode to a Fuckboy/Sonnet 420

Shall I compare you to a summer blaze?
With words that stoke a swagger like a pit.
With palms exposed, your eyebrows raised and lit,
Or lips downturned in lover’s scorn erased.

A tear lapsed dripping down your face
In permanent affect,
And corners of your lover’s lips a laugh do ready make.

And do those somber granite lamps illuminate a sigh?
By twilight, in the cold of space encroaching a black night.
A promise made makes not a promise kept.

Yes, you will burn a brand into my thigh,
A color portrait tattoo of your face.
and when your breath has soured like a brine,
The salt will leave your memory dry:
a moth’s spine with a pin still held in place.

A highway and botched centerline is yours,
And every bunch of hardy heather which by the shoulder grows.
So long as sand draws slow through hourglass frames,
And untapped wells of volcanic, “say my name,”
So long a fickle kiss can chase a breeze,
Your empty hands inherit all of these.




3 thoughts on “Ode to a Fuckboy/Sonnet 420

  1. Hi K of JAK,

    The word choice and cadence are from another time. Your skill is great. Cutting things out of the female psychic with a good paring knife. Those little things which add up to the complete mystery. How did this happen? Who was that guy? What did he do with me, to me, for me…all of it plated on the table and then you call everyone into the dinning room and the meal begins. Thanks. Duke

    Liked by 1 person

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