How fast the sun arrives
And disappears, its arc
Belongs to yesterday
As whiskey and cigarettes
Future forward.
The night turns to lust
To keep the darkness out.
We are addicted to
The warmth of bodies
Genuflecting bedposts,
Praying we survive
The heat of battle
Until light brings
A cold tomorrow.
Nikki Wilkinson says
This has a haunting, mystical quality, one that peels back the surface layer of living to peer inside. The ‘cold tomorrow’ ending couplet introduces the light of reality after a feverish night of lovemaking?