i live in that
moment
of bated breath
between
witching hour and sunrise
where the dark things
scurry across
the leaf laden ground
blind creatures
that defy reality
hunters drawn
by the scent
of soft emotions
hidden in the brush

if she were
to ask me
what i want
what i
truly want
i would show
the places i carved
her name
across
my secret tender

i would
take her hand
to my scars
so she could feel
exactly
where i have been
that led me
to here
more effectively
than a book
of two dimensional images
that only highlight
the sad
in my stare

she could be
my eyes
of twilight desperation
as we seek out
the monsters
in the night
slaying the beasts
that haunt the quiet
as we trace
the deep cuts
that shape
our oft sundered
inner selves
with nothing but
the hooded moon
to judge us