At Night

 
The skies sleep on you,
stroke you amber -
that gargantuan moon eats it's meal
right out of your hands, and they're cold,
at first, they shine red,
light up the trees, fever -
embers catching leaves. Once
when I was within them,
I let your body envelope my body
until she became
a catacomb of that sweetness,
gutted to a hollow,
explored,
decorated in ash
sentiment and silence.
I don't mind it,
it's comforting -
the quiet,
no dread,
no further sinking -
tunnels began to sing over time,
echo,
out from under the sky,
out from within your palms,
out from the moon
and the treetops
and moss beds
and it's cooler,
by night,
since it all waned
at least until the nights
 I deign to think of you.