Tonite is not that nite on the paradise island all alone (or so I thought) just one light from my laptop screen glows.
Upon my face, I am the digital angel and he stood suddenly and surprisingly at my feet, hands on the bars. Through the balcony bars he bekonded silently maybe I want to step feet to the shore and share in a private secret with him. How the little fish did glow in the tide – the shallow, shallow water. They looked neon. Each and every of the thousands it’s own light source. Just little neon moons swimming too close to shore.
This is also not that nite on the full moon island where the temples and the rave seemed quite common place, so he and I walked without electric light through the monsoon season wetness and the island cat did follow me. To my stoop. Then lied down. Taking this as a good sign, I welcomed you in. Welcomed you.
Well, come. This is a new nite and I’m overheating in my summer dress. Flip flops and desert horizon, not even plants live in this kind of desert. Not a single plant. Red rocks sprout up instead.
This is the nite that I yearn. I claim that word. I yearn and I long and I ache in the one hundred degree isolation. I learned to love when I loved like fire. Wild west Arizona bounty huntress has interest in few words.
Tonite is the nite I yearn.