Born into the night
Sharp-suited, black
Against the shadows,
Felt your footsteps
Cold and soundless
Tracking,
Each placed deep within my own,
Your breath,
Chill upon my neck
As your words swirled,
Like birds lost in the warmth
Of early winter,
Around my head,
My back sheltered by
The uneasiness of your coat
Wrapped about my shoulders,
Felt your hands eat
Into my formaldehyde mind,
Sowing the seeds for a harvest
Misted by candle-wick days
Which devoured the light
And led the Sun to its
Uneasy bed,
Born into the night
Cut from the promise of light,
Against the shadows
I felt your footsteps.
An older poem that has appeared before but vanished!
© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020
