← v18n1, Spring 2019
Poetry · Volume 18, Number 1

The Night

The night was not the dream

it was his mouth

was his beautiful body stripped

of his useless gestures

was his pale face watching me from the shadows.

The night was his mouth

his strength and his passion

was his serious eyes

those stones of darkness

falling in my eyes

and it was his love in me

invading so slowly

so mysteriously.