The day falls behind her shadows
paints her face to the blushing hues
And leaves her want fulfilled.
She gathers her cloak of darkness
into the cold bed of night
where she pines the hours frustration
longing the brightness, till dawn again
consumes her whole into his fringe
of bright scarlet overtones
That holds her in his passions play
where he rides her mantled fluffy skies
a God of her haven, this abode
where both consumes and fills the other
In the play of night and day.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph