a sinuous meander of silver saliva, 
tongue sweat,
wet with the promise of a ripening flavour burst,
like capillaries in a deep bruise,
upon the narcissist tastebuds that flood with the spectrum
of the numb soul caught in the drumbeats
of a sweet stain left empty in the two dimensional folds
of old memories, once precognitive,
now an interrogative statement shared
with an ardent abstraction.
a refraction of personalities placed
in duality to oscillate and alternate
to keep in motion and turmoil the oily flow
of the Moho mantle of our memories.
and I am there, even when you
cannot see me, caught in the folds
between fingers that linger in silent prayer.


copyright William F. DeVault (wfdv)