Pellinore, watching from across the room

This is a minor classic, about the quest for love. Have I found it? The tragic thing is, I have no idea. The gloves are doing their twisted magic.

Pellinore, watching from across the room

had I the will these arms to fill
I would take you to me now.
inhaling the essence of your skin
as your hair brushes my face.
no trace of doubt, no fear of falling
in a lazy death spiral of fractured heart.
where do we start.
when do we part.
and with what shall we fill the lazy hours
and the impractical nights?
soft words leading to
soft touches leading to
harder words leading to
harder touches
and the moment where
the terminator line loses focus.
duality merged in kisses urged
to their necessary conclusion.

but I have lost the will
in the killing fields of memory
where I even now
search through battered shells
for the omens of hope
left cut
into my skin
where I fell
last time.
but not for the last time.
for I have the will
to find the will
to wake the legion
and reason enough
to rise to challenge
the mocking moon
in the nights of silence.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.