Sonnet 128

here’s amanda!:

excellent!! i’m so happy that amanda sent this in, all the way from houston, not only because i knew it would be a fabulous reading, but also because she’s one of my favorite people and poets out there. she’s the editor of the pebble lake review, teaches in houston, is a graduate of the best MFA program out there, her wonderful poems have appeared everywhere, and her manuscript Glossolalia was just accepted for publication — congrats!

and THANK YOU for this wonderful reading — and for being a part of the project!

Sonnet 128
Oft, when thou, my music, music play’st,
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway’st
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,
Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,
Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,
At the wood’s boldness by thee blushing stand!
To be so tickled, they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips,
O’er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
Making dead wood more blest than living lips.
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.


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