The smell of nightfall:|
Sly shadows turning to revel in predatory power.
Joint-snapping stretches that shake off the languid bonds of day.
Eager inhalations savoring prayers, nightmares,
and whispers of dangerous passion.
The dark seducing the very stones to dance.
Moon-marked by pragmatism, happenstance,
and blue-black shards of reflected light.
Intoxicated to clarity…
Rapt in the orphic balm of Morpheus…
Basking in the dark palette of the nocturne;
What use the touch of the sun?
by Michael Grey|