Adriana’s Sonnet

How softly warm, Venetian tease:

A Siren’s call from ’cross the sea.

Infused here with my Cuban breeze,

Recalls my youth and calls to me.

Enthralled by beauty and by charm,

I bask in light that finds my light.

And ink from pen in hand from arm,

Bull-charges hard and stirs the fight.

Should now I simply stand content,

And step in front of lit desire?

Pour out what surely will ferment,

And douse this spreading wildfire?

It’s not a missing valise found,

But I around her finger wound…

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