(a sonnet with two extra lines)
In the absurdity of mind
The logic stamps the days and nights,
The swamps and skies, the black and white.
The words of love are steamed and blind.
In pools of moonlight beauty lays
The touch of glass on lips divine,
The taste of strawberry and wine,
The corner life that mind buys.
The morning bath of nice eyes,
The cold palm on naked hips,
The air broken like ice.
The streets with slow moving fish,
The stalls with lovers stashed like mice;
Disunity of parted lips.
In the absurdity of mine
The touch of glass is like a kiss.
That’s absurdly good.