Reading an Old Poet- revised, modern sonnet Options

[anaisa]

revision

I'll never see the details of his days,
or trace my finger down his unknown face.
I'll never feel the texture of his hair,
or watch the ardent way he might embrace

a woman—but, it's of no consequence.
I've read his words and touched his intellect.
He could have died a century ago,
it really doesn't matter, I suspect.

The measure of a man, passion and wit.
The lure is how he wields a phrase. I've been
seduced by someone's lines— the subtle kind
without a mortal body, form or skin.

His intimacies: lawless, aching, swearing.
A brimming river ageless and unsparing.



first one

I'll never see the details of his days,
or trace my fingers down his unknown face.
I'll never feel the texture of his hair,
or watch the ardent way he might embrace

a woman—but, it's of no consequence.
I've read his verses, seen his intellect.
I hear he died a century ago,
it really doesn't matter, I suspect.

The passion of a man becomes his words,
the lure, is how he wields a phrase. I've been
seduced by someone's lines— the subtle kind,
without a body, form, or eye, or skin.