Sonnet II from Stupid Sonnets
Her granite-black streets soaked
mist abound at every gutter
floating above sidewalks, boots and cloaks,
coffee brews and voices mutter.
Gothic shadows wake from dreams
of European romances and Rioja wine,
oak-tree hems and tram-track seams,
regular rhythms and sporadic rhyme.
Lime and lemongrass emanate from little Bourke lanes,
beats and riffs pulse underground
through dark hours the warmth remains
she holds my hand and walks me ’round.
She holds my heart, delivers her poetry
and inspires mine – Melbourne, my obsidian city.