imagination

my imagination knows you too well.
the sound you make when I touch you, gently,
the feel of your body, curled into mine.
the tone of your voice when the words are fell:
but how they are spoken, reverently,
making me aware of divine design
in my encountering you, this frail shell
nothing but vessel for my light and heat.
paramour who conjours you as lover
and friend, companion and peer, fires of Hell
and the kiss of redemption, bittersweet.
I close my eyes and dream to discover
your presence where hope cast a patient spell.


William F. DeVault.  all rights reserved.