The Tinder Box

Sometimes he comes to me in the defeaning silence of the night...the man with eyes like two dark pools of twinkling stars. You wait, in naked anticipation...yearning to be taken in by him...again and again and...again. You hug yourself tight and playfully beckon him to an embrace...something in that twinkle says he won't come, when called. But he does, perhaps...alas, you were asleep. He slipped away before I could touch him. Like the man in the dunes. Now, really! And with eyes wide open you search, desperately... around the corner, in cosy nooks, in the still warm depression on the pillow, in the touch of an imagined caress...the trace of a token, a promise, a dream, atleast...maybe he'll come back tomorrow and maybe he'll stay. And then we'll read the morning papers together.....the man with eyes like two dark pools of twinkling stars and I