The night speaks to me
In ways I can’t explain:
A whisper from a passenger
On a speeding train.

The moon sings to me
A lovely lullaby;
Full and frantic fever,
A chorus from a cry.

My thoughts come to me
Like weapons quickly drawn;
A cold metallic taste
Weighing down my tongue.

My dreams call to me
With potent promised pleasure.
Stretch me out upon the rack,
Exacting every measure.