The Fade of Night

It hurts to bear the comfort of the fade
of memories invoked across the night,
against the warmth of summer, coolness played,
the pain of passion, burning fast and bright,
the hands upon the sweat upon the skin,
surrounding life and pulsing like a beam
of morning’s promise, lingering within
the comfort as it faded like a dream.
My voice is distant, further than the moon
which rises just as brightly, so I’ve heard,
on nothing; I misspoke my heart too soon
and faded in the comfort of a word,
while every fading night becomes a day
when you arise too many miles away.

Leave a Reply