My Passion, My Cathedral

I would lay you down in a bed of soft satin, silks and rare pelts,
a worthy place to trace our passions for a night's mystery,
the history we make more vital than the promises we break,
words lost in a sound of breath and small death to transfigure.
We slip from the shadows to touch and taste and waste not wanting
that had been haunting us from the first inconvenient question
that we did not speak but shared in a furtive glance that dealt
all our cards to a table you alone could see, in front of me,
no barriers to harrier your complicated soul. A thirst to slake
in uncursed waters, blessed and pressed to and into you, pure
and sure as any christened sacrament in a cathedral, prayers taunting
us as words that swelled to let us meld into a shared possession.
For I take naught what I do not give in turn and full, to share,
to bear and bare all you would take into you, as much as you dare.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

I wrote this for my friends at DeviantArt.com and included a complex dedication, that I am not including here. Consider this a testimony, a Valentine's Day poem and an anniversary present.