number six

abstract lovechild

have you returned to haunt me
to taunt me with promises maybe never met?
wet sweat and the fingered fret
of an organic instrument of pleasure?
measure for measure, a treasure
to be sought, caught
and brought to hot perfection
as a confection the banquet of the damned.
rip the seal and peel away
the enchanted skin
to offer up a palpable prize.

William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.