John Lars Zwerenz (1-5-69 / Kew Gardens, New York, USA)
Lethe (A Sonnet)
LETHE (A Sonnet)
I shall open my satchel and compose anew.
While dreaming, I saunter to the inn for a brew;
After I shall wander to the outskirts of the grove.
A Carolingian chatelaine has fallen in love.
Her bastion’s teeming turrets, and their ancient, stony tiers
Shine above the fountains in the cloistered, marble square.
She admires a row of flowers and combs her undulant hair,
As she walks by the sculptures, near the bower’s belvederes.
I shall drink the dews from the grand beyond,
From the elysian wells of her royal countenance.
I shall greet her with my verse as a Saxon vagabond,
Enraptured and drunk with the orgasmic cadence
Which emanates from the aspects of her deep, raven eyes,
Beneath the lethe of the moon, and the swallow that sighs.
Comments about this poem (Lethe (A Sonnet) by John Lars Zwerenz )
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