To love, to die again on passion’s blade,
This heart’s desire defies all common sense
A twisted knife to tear the guts away
When all is lost; one word will yet invade,
Demanding nought but her in dark pretence
In whispered words I want to hear her say.
Promises nothing more than sweet goodnight,
Through hours of darkness to the morning light.
She plays her game, a mocking love charade
Just one more time; she calls me in between
The diva girl from fashion’s high parade
And ash blond curls of glamour’s beauty queen
Yet when her looks in age begin to fade
I swear, I swear, nowhere will I be seen
©JG Farmer 2012
Form: Alfred Dorn Sonnet