sitting and stretching on sun-drenchéd grass
sharp spikéd sonnets are piercing my throat
scanned to your ear as we all spin around
out to the edges where fantasies float
centripetal forces are pushing content
a tension ejaculate, stringing the sounds
a gluing together of my love for you
powerful, pressured and knowing no bounds
in my mouth, my hearts are beating their beatings
down your throat, i stuff my sonnets, and teachings
coffee cups, notebooks, and scraps of baked goods
strewn about, snowed in by papery winds
the skies' legs keep closing, then open again
in answer to seventeenth century sins
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