Beneath Rough Hands-An English Sonnet
Distain, dripping now, from lying forked tongue
Transcending eyes upon shattered back door
Your poisonous breath has filled your black lung
My skin, silky beneath rough hands, has tore
I beg, freedom from bleak endless suffering
How your hands fit perfectly ‘round my neck
My mere flesh no longer is buffering
Your dark, hysterical, heated mad trek
My soul never was yours for the taking
A thought that has never crossed your small mind
I soon shall be dead, my heart now aching
Exposed, now I see that true love was blind
In my passion I had learned to forgive
In my folly he took my choice to live
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