untitled sonnet

A sonnet’s like a shell, a lover’s bonnet’s head
Displayed in collections, sometimes in sequence of findings
Where found linings and spaces between are said.
Critters dwell in sonnets, they crawl into ears, reminding
Us all that more than oceans have voices in shells.
Acute accretions of shiny smooth dust form
In sonnets. To some, they are worth diving in the swells
Of the Pacific, worth drowning for in night light alarm.
Resonating, Corrugated, octetted and obeliscal
Sonneteers are vain, I think, flaunting their own physical
Form. Petrarch, no doubt, thought his own penis mystical
We all know he was equally temporal, perhaps like an icicle
Melting in light of his Laura until he a wrenched sea became
But his wide clams swallowed whales whole just the same.