Satin Sonnet

We slept on satin midnight blue through wind
and swirling snow though yesterday was warm.
Sleep’s perspiration stubborn on our skin—
a silent echo of the springtime storm.

For satin does not with a body breathe
like cotton with its earthen fibered thread;
it’s made for sliding through and ‘round our need,
not dreaming without reaching ‘cross the bed,

though, we did reach as morning broke the night
and woke dark rivers in our silken arms
instead. We whispered, can this love grow bright,
or does love wane once lovers are disarmed?

No satin can improve our honest love, my love,
just holding on ‘til death says we’re enough.

2007

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