Night descends with its lewd promise,
tardily cloaking the docile horizons -
soft sounds, caressing;
cautious fingers of gentler half light -
A promise of eternity rendered
in a wine bottle of transient temerity.

 Darkness; unable to see without,
Look, yet again, to the within -
shocked again to find the two of me.
That in the jazz of day were blurred as one.
Night: When the one of me wants to be shorn
of the other; when wine's the passive arbiter -
When wine's the fluid emotion
that flows from me to me -
and so, I can, in truth, see and see.

~Shombuddho