I wrote two sonnets today. First, one about rocks. Then, another one about rocks, but now starting from (a variant on) the line “He cracked her open to her very core.”

Sonnet. On the Topic of Rocks

O rocks, o little rocks, you small parts of the Earth
O rough detachèd flakes from off our Mother’s skin
So tiny next to mountains, and yet their closest kin
O perfect building blocks for tender home and hearth

I love you with a passion that burns more fierce than fire
And none of you’ll remain to me as hard as stone
No longer need I pass my days and nights alone
I’ll melt us all into the magma of desire!

Now will we lose our form, and no more be ourselves
But unify into a single fluid state
Where there’s no difference twixt pumice, granite, slate
And what the min’ralist may else put on his shelves

To flow into the Earth, into our Mother’s heart
To be with Her again, and nevermore to part!

The rocks

I crack her open to her very core
Her beating heart most tenderly denude
I lick my lips and laugh at whom I wooed
The rocks around are covered in our gore.

What other horrors does he have in store
For me tonight, this handsome hairy dude?
She wonders as she smiles – if slightly crude
At least this Tinder date is not a bore!

She grabs me by my ears and licks my snout
Her scorpion tails caress my naked back
They sting; and all too briefly we make out.

Such ecstasies we mortals cannot bear
One surge of pleasure – and the soul burns black.
Our bodies slump. The rocks but mutely stare.