A Sonnet

My love of honey coloured hair whose cloudy skeins, disrupting thought by tenuous filaments so fair against my burning cheek. I sought: Smiling, cease to be unkind. This sourness is not aimed at you Pale indecision stands behind sifting thought to try whats true. My eyes, my heart, will not resolve for fearfully desire is chilled as tenuous dreams, by you, dissolve fraught, uncertain and thus are killed. Desire, from hope, too soon is born and wished-for love becomes forlorn.