60. Sonnet I [Spoiled Tangerines]

Each drop of dew on a blade of grass
Is a thunderous, lunatic waterfall
And each sliver of wound resulting from glass
Is a tender bloodbath from which I crawl

Red roses form a spark when I see your face
And they wilt just as quickly as they grow
A desert of loss is a horrid place
In which an oasis morphs into snow

Lustrous lips conceal all uncertainties
Artificial courage formed by vintage heels
Vacant stares are my heart's remedies
Tangerines spoil more quickly than they peel

Whether glamorous or gruesomely plain
I am still a coward, firm, I'm the same

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Olga's Poetry & Thoughts

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