red and black

A new piece, perhaps a lyric? Perhaps...

dedicated to Jazz, wo always seems to think I'm trying to get into her bed, when what I am really trying for is far, far more ambitious.

red and black


blossoms born of heat and quest
that place this suitor to his test
that I might dare, her passions, wrest
to bear with bright vermilion

meanings borne in things unsaid
that place me in her heart and head
no beggars bag for just a bed
I crave the full cotillion

black as blood in moonlight's glare
she looks for me, she'll find me there,
beneath the wreath of jasmine'd hair
that sparks a dark Bacchante

the petals settle in gentle breeze
to mock and stalk and please and tease
a cure to purity's disease:
release the beast enchante.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.