twilight  piles its scorn on sun
dim where we usually live
not in light nor dark
just that in - between part
that's gray, which is real life,
now's life,
death's life,
not bright
nor black and white,
good nor evil
just civil;
but how drab it feels
not to drink warmth anymore,
those glows,
afterglows,
after wet kisses
after summer rain
caught us laughing
quivering skin
still remembering
blood lingering
thumping heart beats
her heart beats
my heart beat
beautiful, musical beats
two beings synchronized
recalling breathless copulations
replayed ever in imagination
as new days unfolded,
unencumbered by fears
our floors were never sterile enough
and must always be washed
just once more
because it's too hard to see
dirt in twilight
and real life,
real love,
reality
is always messy