Monday, June 10, 2013

Summer Sonnet 17: Three Words

Apollo himself could not have composed
A sweeter symphony than the sound that
Is her voice. All of Olympus marveled
When that domestic silence swelled and burst.

Like a cloying harmony. With words like
Notes that produces sentences like concerts.
Soliloquies like seamless sonnets. Spikes
And high ranges of affection than flirt.

And seduce to steal away the senses.
When her soft delicate lips first parted
There was a magnitude in that suspense
Knowing all would change once she imparted.

And what was said that night was only known
By one. To be kept secret for all time.

-By Donavue

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