A Sonnet for Blackberry
These fingertips work their way down your neck And up again, scratching on bristles Fumbling to feel each pore and dandruff speck. This garden on your chin, land of thistles.
You said you’ll end up dead someday soon. While I’m not one to keep you from destiny, The fear sets in heavy. I force a smile, Holding back tears, and speak carefully.
“I wish a better gift had I to give Than hollow words and dead sheets of paper. While temping death might be, I’d hope you’d live. Though my feeble words may seem as vapor.
Remember these moments here with me, Where these hands drink your flesh like a fish in sea.”
James Eliot has a degree in English from the prestigious UC, Santa Barbara and has finally found a viable use for it: Writing impassioned essays on the topic of the week and writing poetry that virtually no one will read (but is objectively quite good). You can find more of their work at www.MrEliotMusings.com