Sonnet 114
All’s fair in love—but only if she’s strong!
I don’t see how a tamped-down, passive me
Could lead to mutual respect;—it’s wrong
And, frankly, gross to weave a tapestry
Of weft without a warp—or vice versa,—
Then try to use those loose and sep’rate threads
To warm a couple’s nights. The media,
For centuries, have told us that our beds
Should be enwrapped in thick, huge, manly cords
That pin her, so all she can do is glance—
In silent awe—at what true love affords
When mates equality swap for romance.
Where’s he who’ll weave—(if not you, absent strands)—
With tension matching mine,—with humble hands?
Liza Achilles is a writer and editor in the Washington, DC area. She is published in Beltway Poetry Quarterly, the Washington Independent Review of Books, and the Silent Book Club blog.
