Love’s Poison (Sonnet) by Michael T. Smith


It’s with love’s poison that I became ill,
that I did over-perch my airy words
like Humpty-Dumpty on his heightened sill,
a point from which all is humidly blurred.

Took off my shirt, fit like a tansy ‘fore,
such that light was a vestige to wear well
and looked within Momus’ tiny door
to see what — besides lips — it caused to swell.

O Fortune, why must I drown in this draft
of supple mead — which only feeds on me
so I’m left the fool in the daylight’s aft,
another lost to the heart’s alchemy?

But love I do, and then to die I will,
to overdose is passion’s only fill.

©2020 Michael T. Smith


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Michael T. Smith is an Assistant Professor of English who teaches both writing and film courses. He has published over 150 pieces (poetry and prose) in over 80 different journals. He loves to travel.


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