Sonnet XIV: Love begets...

While there's still a few drops left, of darkness,
And the moon rubs off its face the sunshine,
While sleepy stars with brooding trees entwine,
To paint what's left of your unfurling tress,

Let me sit back and take a calming breath.

I see in your eyes a dwindling fire,
A sense of oneness with the dimming grey.
Morning falls, I see yourself retire,
Into my arms, submission you essay.

I whisper in your ears few notes of love,

And call your name with passion running deep.
A mumble and a snore is all I get.
To turn you over and find you asleep,
All I can do is simply fume and fret.

Sonnet XXIII: The Bird in the nest has found its sky

It's often in the chiming wind that I
End up not finding blissful solitude
And straining, striving midst a multitude
Of humming birds and starlets to defy
The concoction my love that you've become
I find myself ensnared.

For songbirds cannot bring to me the joy
Nor starry nights enlighten sullen keep
They are but torpid instruments that weep
Dissonantly, in absence of your touch.

So tell me how I bring my pen to write
And summon notes of passion all alone
When every word is now a hapless plight
And all my notes your absence do bemoan.