White Sunday 42

You shivered at the cold and thought the room
would be empty on your return, iron
headboard still cold and hard and your bridegroom
gone, a sea of insecurities, dawn
and midnight, stolen in a promised kiss
that would never come. But I kept faith, held
on when silence roared for I would not miss
this consecration for life or withheld
my love for doubt. You will always find me,
patient if not perfect. Not only skin
but lambent determination to see
this through with you, to everyday begin
the best I know how, in your heart and arms,
and surrendered to your brave love and charms.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

in response to her poem "Only Skin".