Sonnet

Honed, hived, you’ve slept tight as heat
against me, specific, as unfamiliar
as my house in the dark. Here it's Deet
and candles, a past porch life as sure
as a sliver, a four beer slur.
Your mouth opens like a safe, creaks
with yen. Come here and recover.
I come. What another lover
was, you aren’t. Sheets and sheets
of what you aren’t could cover
a library floor. Darling, treat
this as kudos - another
man would buckle under
my kind of esteem.

Morgan

Blonde and round as a tack
and as fond of you as anyone
I know. Shitty days come and go.
To make amends, the world
maps out, closes its gaps,
so she can stand one foot in Russia
and one in Japan. Yes of course
she's one of the blessed,
the precious few, for whom circumstance
bent over for fate -a Helen
young in years but wearing the pants,
not so much captured as advancing
with coolers of beer for the boys
in the horse.