'Missing You' cycle

People whine all the time that I ramble on and on about this and that without much poetry going on here in my official blog. So, guess I'll beat E.J. to 6/7ths of the new cycle I wrote, entitled "Missing You", the first poem of which appeared in his "Amomancer" blog this morning.

Missing You

I.

thousands of miles impede my touch
impede my words and thus is such
a trial revealed and fates unsealed
until discovered split is healed.

that I might find my way to arms
that promise solace in their charms
to break this haze and spend my days
in full surrender where Venus plays.

II.

I place my hand to the horizon and measure the course
of the sun as it rises and sets. rises and sets.
an inconstant friend, this orb of fire.
inconstant measured next to my desire
to stand with you and see what time and trial begets.
you are far from me but your soft light is a fixed source.

III.

are your lips as soft as I dreamt them last night
when you came to me and whispered rough hungers
and thirsts like the deserts of trackless sand
that stand and shift and mock the hand of life
that would banish the burnt and barren forevers
if unleashed by the word and will of a goddess,
willing to sacrifice only her pride for resurrection
as something more alive than an equatorial forest.

IIII.

leave unlatched the door and I will not enter.
for I must be let in.
I do not assume or presume to the moment's leave
that I remain welcome
in all hours and for all intents unless you
bid me come and stay.

V.

how weeps my heart in dark and crack'd wound
that begs but one hand to heal it
to seal it
to make whole the splintered shell I sell
in cobbled smile and patchwork laugh
concealing little but my shame
that hands made to touch you
eyes made to see you
lips meant to kiss you
voice meant to call your name in trysted joy
are denied their part and purpose
for now.

VI.

a part of me
apparently
is absent for a while
I'll keep my bet
and linger yet
to catch your earnest smile

VII.

to part. to split in two. breaking like bones.
tearing like raw sinew as the meat is torn
and even the stones are worn.
I do not want to be away from you.
I do not want to not be with you.
I do not wish to sleep without you.
or stay awake, to passion's purpose,
unless it is you there, open to my hunger
and feasting to your own expression and joy.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

In fact, for the time being, I am going to cease placing anything other than poetry in this blog.