Besotted

When I compare my love to frozen vines,
repressed beneath the frost’s relentless grip,
while sweetness looms, I nary taste the wines
of love that lingers taunting me to sip.

My aching skin, akin to frozen grapes,
betrays the warmth your nectar must exude.
Though pressed by weight and time, still on I traipse,
a doom I meet, forbearing interlude.

I crave your taste, but yearning still haunts me.
Your ardour shines yet coldness stains its glow.
Your charm forbidden till a bride to be,
conserved in mem’ry neath the depth of snow

Besotted by a love that’s crystallized,
Unripe fruit, yet adored, and idolized.

lovewinesonnet

♡Like0

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.