Nighttime, my dearest,
How your hands fail to give me warmth,
And how your gown take the form of smoke.
Misaligned my missive’s wear,
My mangled uncertainties, you magnify, my dear;
I’d be glad to take shelter
Under the stars, yet my love,
Why have your smiles faded upon
That milky guide where once a subtle corner rides
The waves that turn to a soothing from black?
Thee wish be my tranquil slumber given once,
Provided by your silken hair,
Guided by your fading arms,
And your ever-closed eyes;
I could sleep.
Coffee Cups and Fragile Strings. 