After Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130

My love’s eyes are not like a dying star;
Her lips more like bruised meat than sea coral;
Her skin like snow driven over by car;
Her hair not spun gold but more like sorrel.

I have seen the Rosa damascena;
No, her cheeks have more of a fever flush;
No delightful perfume, her hyena-
like scent cannot be fixed with a toothbrush.

The sound of her voice is not unpleasant
but it’s not musical in any way.
Not a dreamer, I live in the present;
I can see that my love has feet of clay.

But still I think that she is quite precious,
because she is real and not fictitious.

 

[NaPoWriMo 2019 – day 27]

9 thoughts on “After Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130”

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s