With all the delightfully tempting deliberation
Of the sensuous midnight dance, they
Pour their whiskey’d coffee shadows
Into the urban canyon streets.
Honest-to-God light,
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.