The kind of love that flourishes only at night.
Only when the moon is high,
atop the gods that sleep above,
and starlight dots the onyx sky
can they reclaim their dying love.
As white clouds make their trite return
and blue jays chirp their morning tune,
the grass will stir; the sun will burn,
and their romance will start to swoon.
But as the twilight comes in view
and slowly blots their pallid world,
their phoenix love is born anew;
their boiling passions come unfurled.
Ye blessed, dark nocturnal things
that strive in blackened midnight air;
that sway and dance on softened wings
and love, and lust, without compare.