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.