REGRESSIVE SONNET

W. S., to himself

Your old catastrophes queued to recur,

And vital fire contracted to a hole,

Would you go back in dreams to what you were

And try anew the unenacted role?

Dead pleasures fading to a wasted blur,

Desire perversely lives, a glowing coal

That stale regret but pricks you on to stir,

Revision of the past your only goal.

So little left could hardly come to less:

A clinging succubus took you as prey,

And, yet possessing you, makes you regress;

The sleepless demon that forced you to say

“Yes” when you meant “No,” “No” when you meant “Yes,”

Still makes a day of night, a night of day.

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Photo from http://quotationsbook.com/quotes/author/photos/6633

GETTING IT

He lounged in the doorway, shirtless
Against the blistered blue paint.
Light curved around his torso,
Sculpting the biceps that muscled his pecs and      
Kissing the caramel nubs of his nipples, and   
Rippled down the dimpled ridges of his abs, and 
And I looked up and saw
His hair the color of sunlight,
His eyes the color of rain.