transitions

somewhere a simple stroll became a subtle dance
somewhere this flirtation became a new romance.
the lines are imperceptible, more than full with magic
to contemplate.  along with the destinies like electric
arcs, leaping from contact to contact to complete
the circuit to synergize energies found bittersweet
then purified in the fires where so many lesser souls
have burned away, their tin swords melting over coals
that temper the worthy, the loving, the brave, the true.
the heroic spirits ready and eager to do what they must do.


partnership

would you give as well as take
and share
as well as tear
away pieces of me
for your own edification?
will your declarations
of love be futile fantasies
to be lost when you
tire of this game
and tire of your name in words of fire?


I can burn

turn on the power.
flip the switch like a slipstream secondthought.
hot.  not for children to play with,
so if you are still evolving...
don't try solving your neuroses
on my couch.  a racing crouch
to the lip of the lover's ski jump...
pegging the landing every time
regardless of whether I'm
alone again.
but in those moments,
drawing power from the wind
in my hair.  I can dare
anything and bring the fire
down to man.
one spark at a time.


darkness

I would explore the side of you kept inside
for pride of being vulnerable to those who might
cluck their tongues in judgement of someone
willing to be what they only dream of.  love
and hope and prayers and meditations made
exaltations with the step across the line
into the shadows where I hold your hand
and we dare to touch in warm and cautious
passion those parts of our hearts others
may only dream of having seen once
at a distance.  and only then, by chance.


resonance beyond words

there is a power in your touch.  words,
even my words, are futile to describe
the fiery pyre of pain consumed
in your touch.  so much like the kiss
of an angel revealed in a dance of a dream
that seemed so forgotten.  the battlements
blaze where you conquered this keep with
the soft honesty of a noble heart.  capable
of more than the coppers of the common
rabble, a worthiness to love and be loved.
an ascension beyond the pretension
taught in this graceless age of the untouchables.


monuments

I have, in my life, built many a monument.
and, fate set, may build many many more.
towers of words with arches that soar
a thousand miles into the air, the firmament
resting on my heart.  Atlas laboring through nights
of legend to find his labors lonely and dark,
no tenant for his Taj Mahal, the final spark
in the coals of the braziers that provided light
now fading.  serenades and charades cut
with bloody fingers into the face of mountains
that turn shadows in the dawn.  the fountains
of living water made offering to those who but
for the price of pride would drink and grow.
but the monuments stand silent in the snow.


rpm

tachyon tachometers
will have to measure
the intensity of pleasure
next time we touch.  
such a waste to wait
for the green light to lift
my clutch foot and shift
things past fifth.


copyright William F. DeVault (wfdv)