Saturday, November 01, 2008

fire

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inspired by a new photo from my friend Mariya (enclosed), this piece released a few fluttering heartbeats and hungers, as well as made a perfect November 1st poem for the Fields of Arbol.

fire

flint to steel
is not what I feel
but the soft ignition...
the red touch of tongues
of flame that rise from inside
to lick the air about me.
fire. born of desire.
immolating me.
absorb the heat.
magnify it, sanctify it
with your touch.
enter the furnace
already hot, caught in coals stirred
by a single word and a perfect kiss.
flesh that could melt stone
and bring a frozen heart to burn.
consume me in a plume of passion
share the infernal beauty of my love.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

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