touch me. for I am flesh, as you,
given to the same needs for air and food
and warmth, communicated between two bodies
at rest, touching in all aspects possible.
and many improbable,
as I pull a cat out of the quantum corner
and make it into roses to bloom in arcs
of every colour of a spectrum of another sphere
as they fill the room with exotic perfumes
I brought back with me on a trip to the stars.

sing for me. I will smile and touch your hair
and dare to sing along, when I know the words.
for we are at best in blended voice and thought
and flesh, yes, I recall mere moments ago
when I could not tell the terminus between
your light and my darkness, as angels averted eyes
and we made the case for unity between us.
it was. yes, it was. it was something I will write of
when I catch my breath and I can find words unique
and perfect and passionate enough.

dream of me. for I dream of you. I dreamt of you
even before I heard your voice. before I knew your name.
when all I knew was that, by the same evidence that I know
that there is a God, you exist and existed and I would find you,
even if I had to climb mountains of madness and sail,
sail forever, it seemed, on seas of the mediocrity of life.
for there is too much to be lost to the world if I was right.
if love is and was and will be regent. regret wets sweated sins.
but I am a penitent pilgrim, lost on the road to Golgotha.
seeking something more than the philosophy of dreams.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.