The Dance

the night enters as a habit. no matter your circumstance, they will display it. its blackness is stunning. her hair is wine maturing in a cellar. further with each day. surviving on his theories, he leafed through her shadow. he smirks, a beam god alone sees. the damp air and its mystery satisfied the chamber. instinct marveled as his arm advanced, scanning for a resting place. his touch was a signal to arms. her skin disintegrated into his. they had formed the bed. the cave of the ancestors with sketches on the wall lurched. they, as one, could now dream. the channel opened without light. thoughts exhausted and sleep, succeeded.