My attempt at some iambs. And some pentameter. The number of curls on the top of your head Mocks my perception of who is and is not dead I'd like to believe your eyes opened the world But it seems that they only imitate sand and pearls So lighten the skies with the heat of the morn Wrestle my cheek in the vast fields of corn With rough winding fingers, caress my inner ear Tell me what ails thee and perhaps God will hear For he that makes haste in thunder and seas Is first at my backdoor and first at my knees I could let you in, let you follow me home But what would become of us when there is no more foam? The ocean only froths when it's frightened or sad But you and your eyelids make waves of what I had I will open my door for only one tiny glimpse Of a man and his sea and his eyes made of chintz Sing me a sonnet and hold me til noon And maybe I'll love you, for forever comes too soon.
