Robert Preston


Vis Viva


Interconversion from potential form
-then to active- and back again, there is
no waste of love. Latent as pain on his
brow, then active as strokes against her arm.

Sometimes it is the interest in warm
embrace, sometimes it is loss of a kiss.
Its one constant is transient form. Miss
not this foundational truth (due to harm.)

The cycle endless as the waters which
feed the shimmering pools of your azure
eyes. Do not fight this tide. Rather, measure

love in breathtaking glances, longing twitch
of your yearning head, and in a shared sense.
My arm is for grasping you as you tense.

Submitted: Thursday, April 03, 2014
Edited: Friday, April 04, 2014

Topic of this poem: italian sonnet


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