And once again, I linger.
Dark is the night
in Southern lands
but finding it, unerringly
is what the gods decreed
will be unalienable, just for me
a right that sprang from lust
and fleeting pheromones,
I brought him, Mr. Wilkinson
the only one to trust,
he smiles upon achieving it,
a work of art so plain
that it is overlooked by most
perhaps without tradition
from pasts when one denied
one's own desires in the heat
of dull and hopeless nights.
Uh, uh still rings so true
and when it comes, this special day
my very last, I shall demand
the answer from the vicar or the Pope,
I need to know before I go, indeed
if God has given either even one small taste.
Herbert Nehrlich
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-night-is-black-my-friend/
