More Of The Night
I feen for the calm, docile placed fire,
The ex in extra before an exit starts,
The urge to add dark, sultry desires,
An encore for vibrant, unsettled hearts.
I yearn for a jury’s continuance,
The exposed touch of Eve’s verbs repeated,
the safe flow of spirits, live tenderness,
I’m jealous of the crave undefeated.
But there is no end kept at this doorstep,
There is only the feint death of memory,
and while we may write love, and then forget,
We are the melted cry of symmetry.
Now there is unfamiliar morning that seeks,
And passion on hold, for dual minds to keep.
Copyright © Jiril Clemons | Year Posted 2016