Sonnet experiment

Sonnet of sensation

The notion of substance without the sensation,
Without the softness of your skin on my hands.
An open head, I am afraid of such a liberation.
Feeling no pain when my mind mixes into the sands.

I fear the loss is eternal and I am forever doomed.
When out of my limb sensation begins to grow,
Delicate, like a flower that's just bloomed.
I feel my tongue tease soft skin, nice and slow.

When the sensation of your softness quickly fades,
cells of your skin strike my skull like miniature blades.


Sonnet of Episodes

Syrupy and delicious,
Quick but tenderly it travels over my throat.
Nights with such episodes are precious,
Long ever lasting episodes of gloat.

Episodes which I find delightful
so peaceful, oh so mild and pure,
seem ever so spiteful,
sharp bitter nights I will surely endure.

The effect of them on my chest is pleasing,
enough to ignore my mind's teasing.

Spinning sonnet
I have a spinning top in my head,
colors and colors are all I see!
For the spinning food I was fed,
I forgot to pay the fee.

The spinning food isn't cheap,
it can't pop out the ends of my tree...
But the spinning top is mine to keep,
the spinning top was free.

Now that the spinning has caused the colors to mix,
the painting will be hard to fix.