Is it not strange my love,
I rely on your silence and cover to keep me sane?
The inky blackness renders blindness;
where no one may see the sad emptiness.
The light of day you greet in battle is my darkened night;
neap tide of the blind...
Hidden well within your monochromatic grounding,
of beauty in color unseen...
I revel in your black blood ,
the echo of after image burn, on old and weary retinas.
I adore the anonymity of your soul,
it hides me in only hints of sin and remorse!
Hidden too, the happiness of strangers' red doors,
bragging of the secret of love---
I care for them not, they move in broken frames,
jerking and jeering and laughing!
All derision at the night,
the fear they show and run from it now...
Who would I be without the night---
to mask the flash of your eyes in scorn?
Your perfect skin and your perfect soul---
awash in adoration of the day crowd...
Thank the black dark inky love,
my mistress and muse;
Hysteria when you're near