Sonnet to My Mistress
My mistress comes in varied shades;
Be it black or clear or brown.
When we embrace it feels like blades
And fire as She goes down.
She is beloved by many,
But beholden to so few.
I'm not Her one and only:
You might be Her lover, too.
All the times She's left us
To lift another person up,
Are all the times I've trapped Her trust
In my drinking cup.
My lust for Her has seared my soul,
And turned it into burnt out coal.