Jabberfucky.

Well, that's a rude title, really. It's not exactly about fucking per se. But I wrote a poem a couple of weeks ago and figured I'd post it. Note my attempts at my favorite meter, catalectic trochaic tetrameter.

Here's the original--more or less as I threw it at my phone:

One two, one two, and through and through
And through the night went we;
Passion met with passion felt,
And through the night went we.
Months we went with calm words shared
--But uncertain of intent.
At last! At last! Silence broke,
And the matter was announced.
(Embracing now, fingers laced,
Warp and woof entwined as one,
Bodies pressed and hard need known.)
We let it out, let feeling free,
And so through the night went we.

I wanted to preface it, if I had posted it, with "Sorry, Petrarch; sorry, Lewis Carroll; hello, Whitman." The latter two for the references to each of them, the first because I miscounted the number of lines and thought this was sonnet length.

Struck by that, and realizing it wasn't quite long enough, I decided to try rewriting it as a proper sonnet. I added a line I still hate ("Eyes both locked, sublimest depth"), and reorganized others to effect something like a rhyme scheme (a change toward rhyming is really only evident in the second quatrain, with it's ABBA). Don't love it, don't hate it, but here's the start of that attempt at revision:

One two, one two, through and through
Through and through the night went we;
Passion met with passion felt,
And through the night went we.
Months went we with calm words shared
--Though uncertain of intent.
At last! At last! Silence bent:
Bald/our desires were declared.
(Embracing now, fingers laced,
Eyes both locked, sublimest depth;
Warp and woof entwined as one,
Bodies pressed and hard need known.)
We let it out, let feeling free,
So through the night go we.

I may return to this and revise it, either into a sonnet or not, at some later time, but figured I'd post what I had for now.