The door swings open approaching the personal cave: there, waiting, each intimate night of love. Seasonal winds caged. That room stands guard over itself. That room wears handcuffs of silence.
When the day's surrender seeks fulfillment, then if you don't come how can it gather! You are the soft pillow of all these occasions, at the bed's corner the day's end unburdened refuge.
The pair of socks roll into balls on the sofa, the shirt finds shelter on the chair's firm shoulder, the handkerchief waits in the trouser pocket for sweat; one trouser leg on the bed, the other at the bed's edge, underwear hides beneath the bed or beside it.
This is how night falls... those nights when the day's vigor doesn't fade even at night. On those nights descends another day altogether. The passing of those nights happens not in darkness but at the electric light's switch; when you come, just like this dreams wake in the darkness's light.