I want the cut to the bone, the tongue to the nipple,
I want an infinite opportunity for the caress and the kiss-
a lifetime of nighttime.
But Sunday mornings never cease to return and always I’m running with the same invisible one,
sleeping under bridges, our bodies building fire to ward off secret fear;
Let the sky fall. Let them wonder. Let them tell their stories. their time’s already spent,
just let come… what may.
I’m waiting for the scream, that scream of understanding from you-
it’s pure and warm as wool I bet.
Dawn is the whore scraping her nails down the back of our beloved Night.
She teases him, criticizes him when he’s nothing left to offer.
It’s true, I have my cruelty, but I love our Father Night.
We live out those bright days in shadows so the sun can’t steal our pale, then await his return, and embrace him so-regardless if he’s a lousy lay or an impotent fuck.
All Darkness need do is whisper my name through the window, and I’ll go willingly to him.
I ride on his clouds, tickle his stars ’til the sky’s full of my pink;
More, I scream I want more…
a lifetime of nighttime with you.