Blankets of satin , white heat ,glass sweats on a bed side table. There is no brilliant sunset or calm before the storm. It waits .quietly watching. I some times can elude it as I have tonight. But I know it is patient. And soon I will gently lay my weary head in its boney hands.
Wow, this could be taken a couple of ways and leaving it up to the interpetation of the reader is really what poetry lends a hand to. Very nice and interesting. It left me thinking and your last night was excellent.