The Wheel of Fire

sparks in the dark still miss their mark
if not caught to the wick and kindling.

heat. sweet and satisfying. catches.
and I am the taper that is consumed,
but not before illuminating room and womb
with this inordinate radiance, a dance
of light and fire, allegory for desire,
metaphor for more than flesh was meant
to endure as the pure tongues of red
become something undreamt of in corners,
cool and dark, where my flames arc
to catch you in their incandescent kiss.

Immolation, Penetration. Satiation.
And the wheel of fire turns and burns anew.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.