Sonnet #1: Our Own Élan Vital

Her kiss leaves blood for me to fore’er taste; / (Drowning within one’s insecurities.)

Her kiss leaves blood for me to fore’er taste;
             (Drowning within one’s insecurities.)
Obstreperous fervidness is to waste,
             When her disarming generosities

Are laid before me to greenly take hold.
             And I do take hold of each occasion
Which, by mere kismet, arises—new or old.
             A trice’s lust, ‘ternal love—combination,

Which cannot go without a ‘fore planned phrase,
             Of some flawed description or minor term.
So imbibe, I do, her lifeblood—these days,
             She imbibes mine too; (were one in the germ).

A connection of lips and breasts, hearts and souls; moreo’er I’ll
And she’ll coalesce in and of our own élan vital.

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