​For most it’s deemed
an affliction,
but for me
it has been
a benediction.
I have always
preferred the
quiet of the night,
the cool,
the less bright.
My eyes sigh
at shadows
but wince
in glare.
I can feel my pupils
in darkness,
opening to the
lurking somewhere …
out there.
In the day
my lids clench,
my skin nearly smokes
as it burns
as if I won’t notice
layers sloughing off
turn by turn.
At night
I hear nuance
carried great distance,
delivered to my ear.
What during the day is
discordant, cacophonous,
in the darkness is
dulcimer and clear.
At night
I can smell you
across the miles,
over the years.
I can feel the
slickness of your body,
taste the salt
in your sweat,
in your tears.
In the dark
I can feel
you tremble
in the ecstasy
of our embrace,
but it is in
the deep purple of dawn
that I slide into dream
to experience
true memory of you,
your gentle touch,
your soft replies,
your loving face.

M. Zane McClellan

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