Night breaks, Night cuts, Night falls

The blackness is the color of your eyes, an almost-evening sky that lies in wait as the day hurries behind trees and hills, pulling golds and oranges behind it.  Hues of blues, hints of bruises as the night thuds against my head, it's crushing like a black pill powdered by a pestle.  Sprinkle the evening amongst my eyes, blurring and blackening, let me see stars as the weight hits me.  Night breaks.  Night cuts.  Night falls.

Alone in an evening, surrounded by the mistakes of the day.  Consumed by the last, unpushed domino.  Awake in anticipation that hurrying to sleep might bring me perhaps to the nearest point that I could be to you.  With you.  Whatever.  Doesn't matter.  Blackness is measured in depth, not distance...there may be no other side, or it might be right there close.  Doesn't really matter.  Night breaks.  Night cuts.  Night falls.

Cooling, breathing, quiet night air noises that steal in and pretend to stroke and whisper me to sleep.  They remind me of a word unspoken, just slight vapors that remain unrevealed, waiting to be released.  They flow across me in wordless flight, reminding me of an almost-touch, almost-glance, an almost-reveal.  They thud heavily across the expanse of the bed.  Night breaks.  Night cuts.  Night falls.

A hot red blood pulses behind my clenched-closed eyes, a sheet gripped in a frustrated grasp of a hand, a sheen of slight sweat pearls against my skin.  Unseen in the dark, I count the tiring sweep of hands across a clock face, begging for the night to under-tow me in.  I wait for the footfalls of an evening to reach my door, my window.  I wait for night, like a knife, to prey upon me.  I wait for the crumble of an evening to block out all the stars and suffocate me to sleep.  Night breaks.  Night cuts.  Night falls.