Stealth of the night I am,
Compressed or elongated as the light sees fit.
I wouldn’t be removed from my shadow;
So I placed myself in it yet again.
No noise escapes our scuffling feet,
Nor influence from our existence.
My weighted breaths won’t interfere
With the precarious balance of the air,
Won’t infuse longing for the night
Into morning’s scintillating glare.
Now say hello to Luna,
Her crowning beauty
A cool halo.
She won’t confront us,
She won’t mind what we do;
Only that we love her
Above all else.
The height of vanity.
Notice these blades of hair,
Encompassing a face only unveiled
To those also defenseless
In the presence of exposure
(If they are not,
Then I retreat,
Molding myself to the curb,
Or standing en pointe,
Until our feet are left
To remain overlooked
On the mass’s promenade;
Obscurity is easily attained at this hour.)
Currently something is approaching-
A usual occurrence.
These are the final moments in which
Our eyes are not pointed at others’ feet,
Our mouths not thickly coated
With the languor suspended
In morning dew,
And skin not shrouded
With incriminating light.
Let us stand squared
And grimly await the customary rifts
Brought to us by a remote aubade’s
And if a steely beam of gold
Tries to uncover the scowl I wear,
It will only be met
With its reflection in my hair.