sonnet
stumbling, bumbling, mumbling me
holding onto this, this heart of empty
this hollow becomes filled when i am yours
holding out for who we will come to be
your arms with the intertwining grip of tree
rooting, muting those thoughts of my cold past
my teeth are cold, know you should be the one
be the one to warm this frigid mouth, hun
affections for you keep this tongue tied up
you succeed the kindness of earth, terrebonne
the light can be found, for me, through you
for those months and months, our two hearts untrue
at long last i am yours and you are mine
in all this, i mean: je t’ai dans la peau
