Sonnet I "Her"

“Her”

In breeze her hair floats like clouds over earth

She smells of ripe fruit, seductive as meth

Splendent existence glorious life, birth

Her Elegance will never come to death

Glorious beauty unattainable

Magnificent spirit, never to hold

Lacking her presence is destructible

Torturing my mind with its freezing cold

I truly loathe he who may embrace her

I envy those whom may live with her scent

If only to feel her skin, soft as fur

To sense her aroma as it was meant

My life lacking her, never to obtain

To live forever without her, true pain