Thursday, August 4, 2011


Elsewhere, splits in the seam of sky,

To what pleasure do I owe your absence?

I see you are developing the love-bomb (sigh),

In the grammar of life, are we past tense?

From your hat-eyes, you pulled out a rabbit,

O Sorceress, your magic then became a habit,

Now there is that painting on your wall,

Down below, the city gnaws at its own tail,

From the wharfs of my ache (in the winter of my Fall),

A hundred thousand dinghies set sail,

Silos in my depths, stockpiles in my marrow,

Our mushroom clouds are substantially of sorrow,

"Nothing ends," Adrian said. There is no illusion of destination,

Because we, senora, have set out on separate expeditions.


sushruthi said...

Regular romeo, you are =)

PS: I see the lack of German is still not being made up. Spanish won't work.

Moares said...

@susha: Don't blame me. Too many gaupa muchachas in this mundo.

sushruthi said...

Google Translate could've given you the entire sentence :D

"Hay chicas guapas demasiados en el mundo"


Fudge said...

Whattey sonnet!!
'From your hat-eyes, you pullet out a rabbit,
O sorceress, your magic then became a habit'

It makes this love thing sound like fun :P