Sonnet [Remembrance]

Wisdom comes from disillusionment*
You say, twisting ropes of fingers into my hair;
To be a lover is a vacant statement,
Up against the wall, unraveling the husk of this affair.
To partake in a body holding fast to mine,
Tongues trailing silent suffrage across rib cages,
Vertebrae, knee caps, eye sockets, until we align
Centuries of pigments swirl until awkwardly it gages
The testimony of the other;
The religion of the assailing movement -
We are god's, you and I, before an altar
In this act of sloe-eyed judgment.
But I've watched the sway of your back,
the curve of your hands, your mouth until it goes slack.


*quote by George Santayana, from "The life of Reason."