City of Legends

It has been coming in flickers and flashes (I know my creative personality all too well).  The desire to write something blood-fusion-hot in the way of some erotic poetry, to breathe out the solferino flames of the dragon.  There’s just one problem: No current muse.

Oh, yes, I could link to a memory and write something fiercely carnal and heated, that would melt keyboards and ignite screens.  That people would use to get laid.

But I’m over writing about the past in the present.  At least from that aspect.  Remembering a meal is not very nutritious.  And, make no mistake, I am hungry.  To the point of mad ferality. 

I could write of Abstra, the muse of the abstract lover.  But that would be disingenuous.  And, to be honest, to me, a bit boring.  I am considering retiring her.

I could write it of any of the lovely ladies who inhabit this constellation of my life, as friends and collaborators.  But that would elevate her to a place where she would rapidly become uncomfortable (as I know women, for the most part, regardless of what they say, want to control the temperature in the room) and off-balance.  Besides, it would be, at least in some vectors, a lie. While I may think of someone in that way (no names, please) I am doing my best to save the heat, the fire, the thermonuclear glory, for someone special, someone who might stick around and share their life.  You know, someone who wants more than a remote or weekend fling with verbal snapshots to remember in their old age.

I guess, for all the speculation to the contrary, I am sort of the anti-Joe Gideon.  I’m not looking for tourists in my love life, you know, the kind of person who has read the brochure and wants to know what it is like to dance with the man who has danced with the legends on the cliffs.  I want someone who is serious about moving in, taking up residence and giving me a reason to move the furniture around a bit. 

For all my chaos, my native state is as a domesticated animal.  Never been otherwise.  Stupid, on more than one occasion.  Gullible?  Certainly. 

I think I will just keep the fire in the belly of the dragon until it is the right time to breathe it out again.  Trust me, it’ll keep and when it does finally have cause to be released, you’ll know it.

And so will she.

The lovely and talented Candy sent me a poem earlier this evening that I hope she will post to her blog, for it is wonderful (I keep telling people she makes me work hard to keep up, which is a huge part of the excitement for me).

In the time between now and her posting (I hope) I offer a faint echo of that work, inspired by her and her passions.

conquest

your skin whispers "conquest"
as you hold me to your will
memories fading into the nothing
where they belong, a song of silence.
your skin whispers "conquest"
and I remain with you, still
feeling your heart as it opens wide
and caresses me, possesses me.
your skin whispers "conquest"
and your lips breathe my name
onto my flesh, into the dreams
where, once obscure, you now endure.
your skin whispers "conquest"
as you take me where burns a flame
that immolates me in holy fire
with no complaint, and no restraint.
and your whisper is like thunder to my blood.

William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

how new is this? I composed it live, right now, in this post create window. If there is a power outage in the next few seconds, it will be lost, forever. This is the nature of the truth.

I’m back.

in the strangest corners of memory

I will find you in the strangest corners of memory.
The way you took your drink and the pattern
of cool drops of sweat that formed on the glass
as we spoke of nothing as foreplay to
an inevitable union, moments in the future.

The texture of the skin on your back when…
when you were warm and full of life and me.
The way your hair fell in my face when I was
too busy with other things to notice, but remembered
later, and smiled a slow and gentle memory.

The scent of jasmine filtered through the oils
of your skin as you lay beside and beneath me
asking for nothing more than everything I had
and was and would ever be and I gave it all
in joy and hope and dreams and passion undismayed.

The texture of your kisses and the questions you asked
with hands and arms and lips and legs and sounds
that were not words but spoke infinite eloquences
that stole my heart and soul and memory of promises
I had made before I saw your eyes and lost the pain of life.

William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

I want to penetrate your soul
to find the sweet meats deep inside
you shelter now, with virtue’s pride,
in pensive wait for dark control.

bright and deadly is the word
you thought you caught in whispered plea
from paramour on bended knee
who fled your bed once he was cured.

desire, disease, in twain, are blent
to make a potion of delight
from pierce’d flesh and cooling night
and sins we wish we could repent.

I would share what yet remains
in tortured frame and crack’d heart
I’ve welded shut to heal, in part.
until you call for fragrant stains.

(more to yet come)

William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.