Evening Inclinations

The dusk unlaces     
undoing me with its clock hands,  
frayed reins slowly unhitching      
undressing  -  
a spindle unwinding  
paced  
to the fading light      
      
Let loose on the lay     
of spiral bind and blue lines      
uncertainty catches my wrist
in motion,      
but the dead moon drives     
a dread      
of never telling     
welling excitement,      
and vivacity swelling to heights     
of war paint, dance, and daring      
resulting  
in abandoned command      
      
Here, base nature will play -      
fight for meat to flay with claws      
yet keep only pretty words  
and lips' breadth away from ravishing the insides      
to nourish a famished mind      
and appetite      
for hot blood      
    
But no promises stand  
in the dark