The Feast of the Night

I make myself a sacrifice, the price of loving is precious.
To give all.  Flesh and heart and strength.  The rage of quiet affection.
Perfection a path, not a citadel.  Hell fears my words.  Hush.  Hush
and listen to the roaring silence, imploring a moment, shun
the japing mockery of those who cannot understand that love
is both divine and diverse, perverse and pristine, between the seals
the veils fall and we are left, surrendered, feast to raven and dove
who will both feed on the seed of our coeur rage and what it reveals
about the nature of our barefoot hearts, dancing the patterns found
in the mysteries of our histories.  Kisses in kairos.  Breathe.
Breathe and find my breath in your lungs, an intoxicant.  Hope, unbound
and tied with a ribbon that unwinds where we dare our wills to sheathe.
Accept me for what I am.  All I am.  Lover and acolyte.
This, a holy day commemorated in the feast of the night.


William F. DeVault.  all rights reserved.