Dark is the night that woke you from your dream.
Dark is the cause of that frightful scream.

Fear comes knocking on the door.
Fear crumples you to the floor.

Silence is the reply.
Silence means they're nearby.

Softly creeping toward your room.
Softly heralding your doom.

Heart beats loud in your head.
Hearts that are no longer needed by the dead.

Dread and sweat pain your body.
Dread that you might 'see' a body.

Halloween that holy night.
Hallowe'en so full of fright.

Hush!
You place your finger at my lips,
Mellifluous is the sound of admonition for quiet.
Blindfolded I know that you're watching, that
your eyes never leave my face,
your warm brown chocolate gaze grazes at my inner silence.
Gnawing mewling whimpers from my throat.
Your slow stroke upon my skin makes me breakout in goosebumps.
Shivering in anticipation of the next stroke,
the next movement in this concerto for two.
My pulse quickens as I feel a flush bloom on my face.
Wanton, springs to mind, and I want you.
Warm breath at my neck, fingers running down my spine.
I arc to receive all impulses that pound at my weary mind.
Just kiss me I scream inwardly.
Just taste me I beg silently.
Deprived of the sense of sight, I keen to each sound you make.
I hear my ragged breaths, I feel my body break into sweat,
lust is calling in the silence demanded by you.
Answer its call.

Like a flowing river
time flows over you and me.
As water erodes and smoothes,
time wrinkles and renders all aged.
Time, that fourth dimension,
rendering all to be measured by its flow.
The past, the present, the future.
The hourglass that perfect object,
the one item that allows us to see time passing.
Flowing from the future into now rendering the past.
Do we see this in watching a clock?
No, we see hands or digits ticking forward, there is never
the three stages of time to a clock, watch or sundial.
But, an hourglass? Time is there, not there and yet to come.
Would you like to know your time of death?
We get to know our time of birth/existence, but death?
That scythe wielding workaholic, do you want to know when he's due?
Like a train on a platform, would all those with tickets marked
-:-:---- please make their way to platform two and form an orderly queue?

Obsidian black blankets my thoughts and the night.
What lurks in cracks?
The cracked cement.
The cracked psyche.
Bats flutter in the belfry.
Madness takes hold, or is the madness masked as sanity?
Erudite my words may be tonight, but tomorrow I may babble.
Like a brook, black as a rook.
Why do these thoughts become clear in the dark?
Darkness leads the way onto a path.
Juxtaposed by the black night, the light is dimmed
Feelingly, gropingly, groggily I'm frightfully led.
To where?
To bed?
To sleep?
To dream jet black thoughts?
Oblivion, delirium, lithium.
Crow black is the deepest part of the night.
Inky pools of forgetfulness abound the sleepers tonight.