Night People

She lifts her Friday-weary head
from off the pillow
Her eyes don't bother to focus
in the darkness of the room
At the high point of the day

Heavy curtains shield her
from the certainty of Saturday
as her lover's heart races in slumber
A lazy arm drapes over her supple form
and he draws himself closer to her warmth

They will rise in an hour
make love and subside once more
into Decembers of love
Imaging distant waters
on far away beaches
illuminated by plastic stars

When the day is done
They will have begun
to repair themselves
for another night
in the Here and Now

They will share
breakfast in bed at suppertime
 — A cheese danish
as cold as the conspiring winter
as nourishing as a stolen kiss

They will share
their bodies once again
Another cold day
will have melted between them
and laid to rest with the absent sun


— Mark Butkus