self taught
God wrought
dancing like our lives depending on it.
but it feels
so much better than all the alternatives.
and there's that smile again
that just tells me Freud was right.
tonight.
there are no lines on your face
and the waxwork candles
that handled your despair
melted long ago.
like I don't know the biology of endorphin rush.
but when you crush into me
and kick that leg (as long as many lifetimes)
high to catch the corner of my eye
don't think it isn't irrelevant.


copyright William F. DeVault (wfdv)