Sunday, June 2, 2013

Summer Sonnet 3: Touch in a Crowd

He is a delightful distraction
from theatric intellectualism
piano thin fingers play the action
as our entwined bodies bridge the schism.

He rubs my chest and kisses my sleeve
as the play continues dreary gambol.
His soft nuzzling allows me leave
of this Saturday matinee ramble.

Our affection makes us invisible
to polite audiences bored to sigh
his magician hands makes me risible
to the gray hairs' yawning cries.

We occupy ourselves with touch/teasing
this dead art with something far more pleasing.

-By Aurin Squire

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