No, no - I don't love you, lover, not quite,
Not in the way that I love this fair night.
The cyclic kingdom of a waxy moon
Reigns o'er the darkness like a sparkling spoon,
Ready to scoop up the mess that the Sun
Has caused in passing, its garments undone.
But this night, this lithe, obsidian fire,
Nurtures the cloudless cloak: somber pyre
Where those who blanket themselves go to burn.
And I, puerile flame, wait in prayer my turn
To be tucked in tightly 'n' sent off to bed
In that still place where the astres are wed.
Night is the time when my thoughts bathe in light,
When musky warmth wafts in without a fight,
When even the most stubborn dreamers yield
And the fear and the love in my heart are revealed.
No, I don't love you in that way, for
As much as I love Night, I love your eyes more.