This is no purple patch where I will seed
The spicy words of love up on a wire.
There is no ancient Tyrian poem here
That will speak of old Phoenicia to
Compare thee to a summers day, in Tyre!
This is no purple heart amphetamine
Explosion of a speeding love poem
A pink peach and triangle beating fast -
You know I am porphura, a molusc
And I shall not spray my crimsony dyes
In the shape of a yielding scarlet heart.
You accuse me of wearing the purple:
The sonnetto judgment I'm keeping true
Is reserved for when I am, again, with
you.
11.4.05
