Selke Cycle 11: high water mark

high water mark

soft and sensuous fur warm to my touch.
it tickles my nose. our clothes, what remain,
are in disarray as we play and pray and pay
for our desires in burning flesh that meshes
here, at the high water mark of desire.
churning and yearning and discerning
that fantasies were not so far from reality,
just hidden beneath the surface
as you draw another gasp of the air, heated
by our yet incompleted dance of melting skins
as I wait the gate's permission
to enter you and feel you as I have dreamt.
to bend you to my desire and cast my fire
as deep inside you as you can bear.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.