Sonnet 1

2/25/11

I guess it is the remnant of past love—

This tingling sweet sensation in my gut,

The sickening, the nauseating shove

Which wrenches heart and stomach into one.

I guess it is remembrance only now

Which speeds the pulse, excites my silly self,

When unexpectedly I am allowed

To see him, real—who’s pictured on my shelf.

I guess it is the echo of a dream,

So long forgotten, buried deep inside

A memory which often lacking seems—

Or maybe that is just my stubborn pride.

For when I see those handsome, freckled lids,

I take a breath, and wish that I were his.