The night does not fall
As much as it sweeps in,
Turning on every light
And speeding up every car on the road.
It's the opposite of morning,
Which rises slowly and prods us awake--
Begging for us to open our eyes
While we stretch languid against eachother,
Mewing softly,
Fluid sunlight streaking gentle through the windows.
No, rather, the night in all its vicious gritty darkness
Spreads velvet petal-folds over the landscape;
Staining all in its path with oily black,
Sending us rushing for shelter, protection,