and see — it’s growing dark. the west
has lost its shining sun; the stars
are thickly clouded, dim at best.
the cities burn, the dispossessed
give up their will, and all their hope
rests in the hands of those obsessed.
we are so small, and each attest
what cannot be denied: our loves
surpass the others’ loves, when pressed.
and all i ask are quiet nights of rest,
my arms around your solid body,
my head against your breathing chest.