White Sunday 143: heptahedron

there is an ebb and flow to passions that would grow.
tenderness and the dire and carnal need to feed.
sharing breath and the petty death until we live.
I may claim you but never tame you, I am yours.
patience earned and learned, until fleshes run rampant.
burn me, turn me into what you most need, I bleed.
precious mettle, bright as ten thousand emeralds.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

This was the initiating "poem" for a seven-poem cycle as a Christmas present into my beloved Sunday Girl. The seven other pieces, the "heptahedron" are six sonnets and a villanelle.