With all the delightfully tempting deliberation
Of the sensuous midnight dance, they
Pour their whiskey’d coffee shadows
Into the urban canyon streets.
As though, silently screaming,
Seeking to escape upwards.
Leaves from ground level,
Now are the panther-hours,
The time of warm-chocolate promises,
Bitter honeys with secret pillows;
The secret language of darkened doors:
The madness-rations we take
In order to plead sanity.