consecrating the madness

Something new, by request, for a certain feral friend.

consecrating the madness

soft sleep the night and light the tread of memory
bids you reach out to a lover not yet there,
bare to your hunger, warm to the chill of lesser agents
of change and sanctity, the pity of wasted emotion
in an ocean of bleached leeches, unworthy of
even a kiss, stolen by deceit in shallows
where the power of a creature of the deeps
is unappreciated by those who cannot kiss
with intention to unleash you from their tepidity.
so fearful are they of the tigress within that
they sin with their mediocrity when heat and sweat
and sweat and iron would consecrate your sacrifice
to the gods of love and passions, awakened.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.