Union

Furtive gloom-light slips as seductively as Lolita

Into the void and, caressing the spine of darkness,

teases sleepy day into rising, damp, pink,

 and hard, against the dexterous digits of curled clouds

that roll and buck, restlessly as spurned lovers,

against the amorous attention of night.

 And as the growing tremor of light builds below the bud,    

a sprinkle of stars spark in and out with euphoric gasps  

 matching the repeating  thrust and pull of unrequited lust

swaying in broken shadows where night and day come together.