{"sf1_id":1111400,"sf2_id":"lmXxVEBm","title":"Snow in July \u0026 The Train","author":"charles_they","words":358,"posted_at":"2016-12-24T00:05:18.000Z","tags":["Anal","Blowjob","Male","Male/Male","Poem","Poetry","Public","Sex","Tanka","muzzle","sonnet"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1111400-snow-in-july-the-train","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/lmXxVEBm","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/28/c5/28c578f3-c241-4331-8c20-e23f346ce6fc","description":"An explosive sonnet on the season, and four tankas describing a semi-public affair.","content":"### Preamble\n\nThere are a lot of different forms you can use in writing a sonnet. Shakespearean sonnets (as described before) introduce the problem or subject in the first three quatrains, and introduce the sharp turn in the last two lines, but here, the turn starts in the third quatrain, while the last two lines attempt to summarize the sonnet. This is closer to the Petrarchan sonnet, although the rhyme scheme here is still abab cdcd efef gg.\n\n* * *\n\n### Snow in July\n\nWhen snow does fall, the world begins to sleep:\n\nWithout a dream, it slumbers deep and wastes\n\nAway throughout the night; when day does creep\n\nSo harshly in, the world, it us lambastes.\n\nTo rouse the world, to shake its very core,\n\nThe tools we used did set alight the grass;\n\nThe fields on which we wrote in days of yore\n\nHave since been burned and turned to glass.\n\nNow snow does fall in July, darkening\n\nThe sky; the world has lost its faith in us,\n\nAnd thus it fades each night, hearkening\n\nOur dying cries; but we're superfluous.\n\nThe world, it sleeps, and thusly we do die;\n\nWe could've lived; and yet we didn't try.\n\n* * *\n\nHappy holidays, dear readers. Here's four tasteful tankas to pick you up and get you going.\n\n* * *\n\n### The Train\n\nAcross the platform /\n\nI see you, and you see me /\n\nStepping on the train /\n\nHere in the empty carriage /\n\nWe're alone, and you're hunting.\n\n### The Carriage\n\nBuckle unfastened /\n\nFly undone and hand on sheath /\n\nYou stand over me /\n\nMy heart pounds; I could be caught /\n\nThat only strengthens the urge.\n\n### The Rush\n\nMy tongue on your shaft /\n\nMuzzle sliding over you /\n\nYour paws on my head /\n\nWe have precious little time /\n\nYet you pull free, and pin me.\n\n### The Station\n\nYou're under my tail /\n\nPressing me against the wall /\n\nEach stroke is pure bliss /\n\nThe station comes into sight /\n\nAnd you come to pieces in me.\n\n* * *\n\n- Charles Michael Averin","series":{"name":"Old/Archive","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1110449-the-swindle-reciprocity.json","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1113152-to-search-rabbit-cam.json"}}