From the archives – sonnet #14

Back story. Back in 1990, we all had answering machines. I’d come home from work and a red light would be flashing. I would rewind the tape and listen to the messages. I had a friend on the west coast, a long distance relationship, perhaps. We would write poems, sonnets to each other and read them on each other’s answering machines. I got home from work late one night, and behold, the red light was flashing – a poem from KMC on the west coast. I scribbled one out and sent it right back.

Dear friend, I listen to your poems of late,
and contemplate the dreaded thought of life
without the prospect of your fond embrace.
I reminisce about that kiss one June:
too soon, too late to consummate; too true
to be denied; too pure to not be sure
that God intended for our souls to dwell
as one, exclusive, all-embracing love.
No matter what the future holds in store,
I did, I do I’ll always love you more
and more; though distance separate us far,
I’ll search the constellations for that star
that shines in you. And should I die, too soon,
apart from you, we’ll meet again one June.

1990

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