Nightly Ritual

Night

tore the dress

off of

Day,

and when Dusk

ducked

below the mountain

curves

of her horizon,

I watched the stars

burst

from between her

lilting hips.

Seams slipped

into wet

shadows

and white clouds

soaked grey

with her rain,

drops of silver,

molten,

for the Breeze to catch

careful

between gentle lips

and whisper

in heated licks

against thirsty

Earth.

Grass clutched,

hungry,

at the slivers

of her sunshine

skin

she deigned

to abandon,

sunk blade fingers

into the waning

quiver

of her thighs

and invaded

Soil

with the desperate

plunge

of seeking roots.

Day

shuddered behind

the bulk

of Night

and then,

with a shiver

through the nerves

of dew drenched

Leaves

at the wonder of it

all,

I watched the birth

of Dawn.