Terry Miller Poet Sonnet

Ill met One Night

She entered the room and his heart as one
then all before distant time mattered less
he was no innocent, and she no nun
to which, much later, they both would confess.

But, at that instant, neither prisoned, cared
baggage they hid inside their faded trunk
for she, was a vision all golden-haired
and he, he was a sun-bronzed, six-pack-hunk.

He entered the room, in her, something stirred
and all before distant time mattered less;
and long before they had exchanged a word
he was, she well knew, an invited guest.

And in the next morning, as they both lay
they were yet to know the price they would pay.

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