The Things That the Night Knew

The leaves trembled,

the wind leaned in to whisper,

and each, in its own way,

confessed a weakness.

Up on the balcony,

the evening held its breath.

He held me,

and did not let go.

Then the kiss,

slow as dusk settling,

and on his lips the wine,

dark and warm,

the same taste I would one day

find in every memory of that night.

I remember it still:

the shaking leaves, the murmuring air,

the long hush of his arms.

Oh, what a joy,

to have been so willingly undone.

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