It`s only at night
that we meet
under the faint
twinkling bright
of distant dead stars
eager to lay open
their dwelling
history, singularly
or the clusterfucks
of death and birth
A night veiled
tenderly, nurtured
by infinite vastness
and pregnant still
with the everexpanding
cold lips press gently
against likewise
mute understanding
this mutual attraction
to emotional detachment
diffident, might
the drifting reach
of strangest forms
stretched far to meet
the divested, and the light
light, but still
lightyears away
in the night we stay
gripped by the hands
of the cold ones
© Carla, 2011
