Selke Cycle 11: the venom of our vices

the venom of our vices

I want to crush you to me, like a flower, releasing the vagrant fragrance
that lay hidden so long, too long, as we danced our tentative tarantella,
seeking to purge ourselves of the venom of our vices, throbbing
to be released and captured, purified in moments of wet fire
to be kindled in soft touches, waiting for the moment when eyes close
and the clothes are long discarded, like all attempts at restraint.
paint me with your crimson and I will see your eyes burn when I turn
steel into liquid heat that spreads on bedsheets torn and tangled.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.