A Sonnet at 31

A Sonnet at 31

Thy bosom is colored all with hearts,
Which I by lacking am supposed dull;
And there reigns flash, and all poke’s colored arts,
Pen-stick, break-up, drunken bonding tat.
How many an hour and dollar earn’d dear
Hath thee spent on consultation, session’s chair
A portrait of thy gram, which now appears
Emblazoned on thy thigh so fair!
Thou art the canvas where smudged art doth live,
Hung with the trophies of thy passions gone,
Who in their stenciled line work did give
A permanence on thy skin alone:
Their images I lov’d, I see on thee,
And thou–each day–wear sunblock, damn silly!

 

XXXI

Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
Which I by lacking have supposed dead;
And there reigns Love, and all Love’s loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought buried.
How many a holy and obsequious tear
Hath dear religious love stol’n from mine eye,
As interest of the dead, which now appear
But things remov’d that hidden in thee lie!
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,
Who all their parts of me to thee did give,
That due of many now is thine alone:
Their images I lov’d, I view in thee,
And thou–all they–hast all the all of me.

 


Na/GloPoWriMo Day Twenty-Seven challenges us “to ‘remix’ a Shakespearean sonnet.

For the record, I love tattoos, and have several.  And, yes, I forget my sunblock, too.

 

 

 

2 thoughts on “A Sonnet at 31

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s