I think the softer sonnet might be for me-
Grandma always said, “A villanelle,
but I've had enough of villains and I've had enough
of dreary, steep climbs.
I'm a woman and I know what I desire.
My desires, neither cataclysmic nor vague:
I was a very fragile child but I grew to hold
a vicious love for those whom I would keep close.
I have been sick sometimes and shaky but the joke is on
my own cruel God, and mud in her eye.
I've been buckled. I've never been mastered.
Still sometimes I feel sick again, and I feel that pulse
of metal pain in my head,
and the full merciless moon makes me wish
for a man
a man who runs a little warm, to lay down on my body,
foot to foot and crown to crown
to steam the ache out of me.