The darker they seem
With each reach inwards
Each breach of skin and trust.
The pressure, the voices, numbing into shadows along the waste, the perceived pain.
Kisses falter against the torment
Caresses run against the grain.
In the idiocy of a moment
Something matters, something dumb.
There might even be a smile
Or bare intention lost in realizing it
To look ever onwards
And never back.
The pale parade of patient doctors,
Or nervous nurses,
And all the rest.
Inside a lair of greater healing
Before e’er the morning, comes this night first.
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