colour cycle

Those of you who have followed me for some time know that, for the longest time, my name was associated with poetry cycles, clusters of poems that revolve around a solitary theme, written at the same time. I'm back.

red

the colour of fire and desire.
heat, sweet and sweaty.
I can feel the seal of bodies
melting and merging, purging
us of our identities for the moment.
crimson, scarlet and the angry
solferino that swallows me up.


gold

flawless. priceless. beautiful.
desired of all, including me.
to be a part of that radiance,
that perfect curve of malleable,
mutable and mesmeric flesh
that serves shell over
and even more precious soul.


cyan

sky blue, the hue of heaven.
clouded by doubt and every shout
that distracts you from defining
what it is you want and need
and bleed. blue, when you cannot breathe.
I would stand for you and protect
in indigo nights and trackless skies
so that your heart would never be blue.


pink

I think (with a wink)
you know what I am saying.
mine for yours, ours for hours,
intense and giddy, sublime crime
against no one but our own vows
not to let this happen.


black

no light. but life endures.
closed eyes to focus on senses
already to the point of screaming,
dreaming desire into reality.
the power of a black rose,
the flower of your champion.
penetrating you to mark you
as his, and his alone.


verdance

you are young and not yet ready for the world
and all the colours and flavours and textures
and passions that you will inherit one day.
stay where you are and play where you are
and know that you are watched over.
your youth, your beauty, will be a trap
for others and for you, lay it wisely, and true.


silver

are you the unmaker on what I have woven?
the creature of myth to swallow my gossamer
and lay icons on my heart and through me
that I may be brought down by inopportune
hungers brought on by your scent and the nape
of your neck, where I would draw the crash
and clash between mortality and immortality,
between love and lust and life and dust?
if so, I am here and I will offer no resistance.
to die for love is the greatest gift I can receive.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.