Sonnet 17
My love, shall I deceive thee with a kiss
While tending gardens of adultery
Leaving with lust; returning to your bliss
A man whose mask is most untrustworthy
Somehow I saw in something of a rose
A younger you, or innocence of youth
Attractions grew as other roses rose
Into affairs, from me to you untruth
For pain is the surprise you mustn't bare
Knowing of my affairs and afternoons
So it is that this mask I'll always wear
To cover up the guilt of my communes
Yet from our kiss should my secrets eclipse
Believe me, not the lies inside my lips
Copyright © Johnny Sumler | Year Posted 2011
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