Poetry

Eyes will not flirt again. 
There were bleeding stones - 
to speak of black magic. 
We meet like strangers in tides 
and part like sun and moon. 
Do not go into the night. 
 
It was scary to dare the barter 
game of death. Gravel had no 
complaints. The body was not found. 
Nobody had killed the stars. Let 
her go, I say, in the explosive light. 
Do not go into the night. 
 
I think I will move again in a 
gift trap, accept the moon's treachery, 
but I will not go into the night.