Meredith’s Love: Sweet XX-IV

What has dicked the woman
thus? Heaven forfend her head
doth swim with jealousy above
her rusty bosom. Maybe it is

Decked. A bargained cure kills
the nobler agony of contempt
unless it flames it, bearing on ills
bitter with new strings. Her mouth’s

Crooked red bow forfeits the wit
for possession. Despite the eye
ball pure with a new veering fit,
the woman may yet love and

Deceive. Like she knows the word
which carries no prize. This, no
game to be played light, this, to break
the despite of the heart.

© 2008-09 – Mark A. Douglas – All Rights Reserved