sonnet in the passionate or dedicated style

It was only after one hundred crossings that he saw the other side
my mouth is so dry when I wake up beside your sprawl
we break into the factory.       Show me the rusted gut insides
I am beginning to think nothing was a mistake after all
We built a marvelous Inukshuk out of dirty socks      sex
the lilacs are tall & won't wash out
                                                 the poet's voice
gravel, his teeth pig iron
Where is this outpouring from? It's sentimental
     and difficult
trying to be both soft & tough      at the same funeral
when will you decide to paint my bicycle      your colours
& palanquin our sofa?     The asphalt stretched spacelike
                               naked raked & was ruled homicide
product of hand work            a braided disrobing
scraping a leaf a stitch a flip a fall
         happy little trees & all done in a passable feminine style