by M. Douglas Hoss
We own ebony's existence like the
heirs of some vast estate. We own silence,
the lack of light. We own a breathlessness
we cannot be heard across. We call such
death truth, our reckoning, and every
twinge of sparkle that comes, goes without a
blithesome permanence in this barren
void. Here then, the very darkness owns all
parts of us too. Yet, we feast upon its
insistence, any light becoming the
nectar of our wine; any hope, meat for
our repast. Here, this banquet becomes
a darkness lost in love, the absolute
of something far more everlasting.
From:
"The Love Sonnets of M. Douglas Hoss" by M. Douglas Hoss
Copyright ©:
2010 by M. Douglas Hoss
Last updated April 25, 2013