cannot be

what cannot be, is.
cold stone on warm flesh.
memories, or are they illusions,
of a touch, a taste, a passion
urgently needed and given
like a soft touch at the right moment
or a kiss that ignites imagination.
I would merge into the stone
to touch you, merge into light
to lay upon you, merge into
memory to know what
cool passions are like, immolating.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

My thanks to friend and excellent British photographer Catherine Blake, who stepped out from behind the camera for a uniquely vulnerable nude shot. I was so moved by the artistic and emotional integrity of her gesture, I asked for and received her permission to post the picture here, along with the poem it inspired. Note to gossip mongers: She is NOT the Sunday Girl.