interpreting love

The wetness in the evening light

  is  a paradox,

coming  with the only streak of light

that drifts into our common room...

the wetness reminds me of  darkness

and still air..

and also  a pristine voice  that

is clothed

only  with your prejudices...

it is a nakedness that talks to mine

it is feminine and motherly

and uncold ...

then it leaves me altogether

and

the morning light is  a perversion-

that brightness  is a poison