The Promise of Night

Since our first meeting,
every day stands  
alone unto itself,  
a separate cause  
for celebration.  
 
The only purpose of dawns  
are their promise of night.    
In the death of each day,  
our passions  
boil over and  
warm us in winter.  
 
If not for the  
coming of dawn,  
the heat of  my  
furry trough would  
burn us into the earth’s crust.  
 
My love's face glows with  
the approach of  
a second boil.  
Oh, the joy of it!  
 
His eyes are teary as he looks away  
from my unguarded form  
toward the glow of  
dawn’s approaching.  
 
I feel the giddiness of a child  
as his shaft hovers firm against the  
kneading of my wrapped fingers.  
 
We are small morsels of flesh  
shuddering in our nakedness  
on this unexplained  
spinning planet.  
Let us share this savory  
cream that might be  
creation’s purest gift.