Owls and women are very similar

Do you remember the first time you stayed up all night?
I was eight.
The night was a fascinating experience I could not indulge in,
so I pretended to be asleep,
and when everyone else kissed the Sandman,
I stood Victorious and embrace what would be my love,
my obsession.

People say you never forget your first time,
I’ve been chasing dreams and coming up short.
Been Playing cat and mouse games with the damned jester of slumbered bliss.
Been running so hard and so far that home is miles and eons afar.
Trying to take bus and plane ad train and car to reach the alter,
But when you’re so young and every day ends the minute you fall asleep,
You find the days are endless.
The possibility of another dawn is just seconds away from your pillow.
And everything in you wants to sex the morning the way your lover does.

She, night, is the cradle that rocks me.
She holds her arms stretched saying “Yes, love. Take what I give,” and I take and I take and I take until my chest is heaving, my
Lungs filled with cool fevering and the fragrance of after sunset.
My heart is pounding beyond human measure and its force bombards my ribcage.
She is all the fire of anxiety and anticipation.
She kisses the sides of my eyelids saying “Now love, make the most of what I am,” and I make her into stories under
blankets and three a.m. wolf cries.
I mold her shape to mine and we dance, a double helix,
bodies to twisted one cannot comprehend where one ends and the other begins.

This dance is focused and forever.
We
try to detangle our hair and care,
try to unwind at reasonable hours but catch one another cuddled up in
the arms of moonbeam daydreams.
She, night, is the nutrients of bone marrow.
She undulates the way calcium sticks and she’s so deep I can only
try to drink her out.
Our romance is old-fashioned strong and she refuses to leave without a fight.
I,
the fool,
let her love me deeper than sea and sound.
I, the fool,
let her take the reigns.

That’s the thing about first loves,
They linger on your skin the way smoke at 2 a.m. does.
The way the sound of birds lull you to wake.
But she likes when the world is quiet and only the sound of our hearts beating in time
To the sum of added stars to the country yard can be heard.

I had hoped love like this could be contained and refined,
But you can’t cage lions without a fight.