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A sonnet
May 4, 2015
The frozen cream, it coats your inner mouth
Rich golden rays blind eyes with warm embrace
The roads so straight, you never travel south
Distinct wood railings, curtains made of lace
The cream won’t melt, my god is it so good
Skin never burns, just glistens in the sun
The limits do not apply like they should
Do close the curtains made of lace, how fun
But she is in her room with icy tears
You mop them up with ignorant dry smiles
And mom has tried her best, you turn your ears
Away they march, affections single file
If your good, guilt will come to you crying
Oh, guilt there always softly tickling
© Lindsay S., Billings, MT
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