Happy birthday, my love

It’s my wife’s birthday today. Here is a poem I wrote a while back (20130, though I don’t remember if I ever shared it.

I Wanted to Write a Sonnet

I wanted to write a sonnet to your eyes but the rhymes
fought me like a punch-drunk boxer
in his final bout. His wild swings
charged by desperation beat
upon my face until I cowered
in the corner, covered
by my gloved fists, my words
languid and dull under the onslaught
of your gaze. I wanted to write
a sonnet, a villanelle, an ode.
I wanted structure, unity, wholeness.
I needed to praise your thighs,
your breasts, compose an epic
to honor your touch. But foot work
failed and the right cross and the left
nailed me over and over, until I fell
senseless, a lost cause, silenced
by the power of your eyes,
your touch, your sweet and tender soul.

Send me an e-mail.

Author: hankkalet

Hank Kalet is a poet and freelance journalist. He is the economic needs reporter for NJ Spotlight, teaches journalism at Rutgers University and writing at Middlesex County College and Brookdale Community College. He writes a semi-monthly column for the Progressive Populist. He is a lifelong fan of the New York Mets and New York Knicks, drinks too much coffee and attends as many Bruce Springsteen concerts as his meager finances will allow. He lives in South Brunswick with his wife Annie. View all posts by hankkalet