The night does not
fall
As much as it sweeps in,
Turning on every
light
And speeding up every
car on the road.
It's the opposite of
morning,
Which rises
slowly and prods us awake--
Begging for us to open our
eyes
While we stretch
languid against eachother,
Mewing softly,
Fluid sunlight streaking gentle through the windows.
No, rather, the night in all its
vicious gritty darkness
Spreads
velvet petal-folds over the landscape;
Staining all in its path with oily black,
Sending us rushing for shelter, protection,
Light