Allessia Iana

In the night

the lovers, hand in hand,
paint the night with toxins,
shed their hard shells,
grow soft again,
fall into the moist, wet earth
and try to feel,
dance-walk with anger
fast at their heels and
misunderstandings
settling like a shimmering dust
coating the roads as
they revel.
in the night their bodies play,
dark illuminating them,
forgetting the distant rooms
that ring with silence of
words unsaid,
stifled groans,
unfinished conversation,
ghost-tears shed in
early morning rage.