Night of my ingrate tongue,
I want it all,
I want the sky to stop my lungs.
Do you remember how
I demanded everything impossible from you, night?
I sat upon your voluptuous cushions
like an indolent vizier.
I swallowed the whimpers of a thousand adulterers,
I demanded the towers of my oldest enemies,
and sent for the harpist, the lyre.
And before long I had sucked the marrow
from all the stars.
And you just looked at me, and grinned,
you, night of my ingrate tongue.
And instead of kingdoms, continents,
I had discovered the loneliness that is love’s core.