Affair

Can the shadow of my pill bottles
protect me as the sun sets?
 
Surely not the florescent gills
dumping electric breath
into the next room.
 
And why must I be saved
from the rapture of
Night’s masculine perfume:
 
Burned acorns and
a red lion’s mane?
 
I can lick the thick
honey of silence
while chemically dehydrated lips
cry to the darkness.
 
When Night first kissed
me (against my father’s wishes)
I knew my human bound
sacred marriage with Sleep
was over.
 
The affair I never wanted.
The affair I can never escape.
The affair I crave for ever
during the Sun’s self-righteous Day!
 
Until the atonal silence of
Night’s lullaby envelops me
once more.
 
I ask him about his dreams.
 
He storms off behind the apple tree
to cry as I cry.

Then fiendish in strength he
bites my lip, tasting the bloody sunrise and
knowing I am unfaithful.