TP Sage

(March 24,1958 / Coral Gables, Florida)

She is the Night


She comes to me
under muted moonlight,
walking barefoot
leaving fragile footprints
in the soft wet grass.
Night's quiet scent drifts to me gently
hiding in a summer breeze.
She is close.
My heart is alive in my chest,
jumping like a tribal dancer.
I can see the stars in her dark eyes.
Her lips are melted crimson.
Her skin is pale but glowing.
She smiles as she catches my stare.

She is the night.
Beauty with no beginning or end.
For an instant, I'm alone with silence.
Then she surrounds me like a comforting darkness.
I'm floating untethered in her arms.
Her skin is hot.
Her breath is sweet.
Her quiet night sounds
are glowing embers
igniting flames within me.
I am burning.
We are burning.
The night is aflame.
Fire engulfs us
roaring like a captive animal released.
Flames dance across our limbs
upon our skin
outside
within
and the night explodes in fire and light
thunderous and shaking
thunderous and shaking
shaking
trembling
trembling in near silence.
The only sounds
are night's whispered sighs,
a siren's song
burnt into my soul.
She is the night,
and the dawn
and all the time that follows.

Submitted: Saturday, July 05, 2008
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