Black Night

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Once evening’s searching fingers
reach into midnight’s blackest lair,
tales and stories hush down
to whispers – murmurs dissipate
into the cooling air.
When the moment comes
you touch me,
when sweet chills caress me now,
my eyes are drawn to tendrils
dancing – outside of the window –
on the tired, aching bough,
where yawning leaves
fall, shrivelled from
the day’s baking sun –
my mind is also taken
to the first blush of our winter
when first our mornings became undone –
when streams across open thighs since
seeped into
our passion’s nights, and I knew then that trust
was done.
When trust’s slumber was deeply broken –
and no more within my arms of unconfined nights –
no more shelter can I give it,
or  haven from the storms of
urgent dalliances and deceitful insights.
Your touches are a lesson
draping me with finery never yet seen asleep –
so leave me untroubled
and like our mornings – unperformed –
arouse only your inner senses till you can wake
and you can keep.
Fragmented sounds, and in pieces,
our moans and groans – all memories now,
will resonate with you forever
Once evening’s searching fingers reach.

Author: Anita Lubesh

I write poetry/prose/stories/short stories/verses for children/sketch/and have 6 chapters of a novel sitting there like that half eaten trifle in the fridge or bottle of Jack Daniels because something makes you afraid to eat it or drink... right now.. I am a proud Geordie from England's northern hemisphere and the beautiful city of Newcastle upon Tyne. I live with my lovely husband who came all the way from sunny California just for me, and my favourite animal, Bobble, our dog. I am a member of Greenpeace and Friends of the Earth and wish we could all do more, especially today, when such a lot is wrong.

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