Urgent Heat

Direct and to the point, written of a lover who came to visit him in Venice with clear intent.

Urgent Heat

I can feel your presence before I even open the door.
a heat, sweet and succubine. a question posed,
not in words, put in the subtle way you bite your lip
and set your hip to stand like a challenge to desire.

fire. sparks catch kindled dreams. kindling catches coals
that have laid dormant too long, too cold, ready to hold
a new heat. worthy of your soft hands. and perfect mouth,
sharing breath and sharing a minute death in this touch.

such as it is, it lingers, the stingers and the stones melt
as we summon our merg'd, urg'd, urgent heat.
let me feel you twist about me as I enter you, letting go
of my boundaries to bind myself to your exquisite necessity.

see what we can feel. seal the open wounds with words
that are found in no dictionary, but are understood
as a good curse and a sorrowed prayer that dares
us lay like unleashed winds on the desert, defeating the sands of time.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.