Shaving at Night

The sun is gone

and that’s beautiful.

Relying completely on the moon,

I look, attempting to see.

The milk of your skin

drips into mine

and that’s beautiful.

It’s as if we never knew

daylight

and never wanted to.

Darling, you beckon

before I go,

and it’s painfully obvious:

the night needs to rest too.

Daybreak, and I’m alone.

A rising sun and

I finally understand:

the sun and the moon

will never be harmonized,

one cannot have everything

and for the rest of my life

I will shave in the morning.