The lips of night are delicate,
cusping our ears gently.
Provoking thoughts madly.

As she allows you to stay,
her touch; looms and sways.
Like the coming of the sun,
her emptiness evokes warmth.

Decades, it feels.
As you roll up your sleeve,
her addictive gaze strikes eagerly.
Irritated are the eyes that follow.
Seemingly, filled with a ghastly hollowness.  

A whimper suggested,
as you condemned faith itself.
Yearning a simple sleep,
victory arise between stars.

Stuck in a different plane,
night calls out like a siren.
Echoing shrieks,
she hints of Orion.

As ink touches skin,
you become dreary.
Stuck in shambles,
a sense of catastrophe.