Sonnet
MY soul is flailed by myriad little whips
That sweetly sting my tender thoughts, but yet
There comes a time when I would fain forget
The small red cruelty that’s in your lips.
Forget your eyes, that ferret me from sleep,
And, if no power can help me from above,
I’ll beat your slender body into love
And bruise your silken throat until you weep.
In violence is love omnipotent—