These restless and warm nights...

These restless and warm nights
are some of the best I've ever had.

I do admit I much prefer
the reason to be a woman,
laying softly beside me,
the moment to sweetly sexy
to end.

Those restless and warm nights
are nice in their own way.

The feeling of rolling over
and kissing her pale cotton skin.
Waking her just enough for love.
Causing her back to lift from the sheets,
sliding a tingling dying arm
beneath it, supporting her pleasure
with strong and taut grip
that actually gives no pressure.
To kiss her weakened yet full lips...

But these restless and warm nights
of writing and drinking and smoking
and laughing at my own poor thoughts
are nearly as good.

These nights of knowing that
I could stay here forever,
in limbo betwixt moon and morn.
But knowing that I will,
not soon, but before long
lay my head down,
as that is all that is
required of sleep these days.

These nights of walking from room to room,
of noticing the little things
that only tired intoxication does bring.

These nights of shuffling through old notes,
and photographs, and records.
Of recounting the past ten years
of one's life, and speculating
on the next four or so,
as I really don't care to look
too far into the future
for fear of boredom setting in
before it's scheduled time.

These nights of simply sitting and smirking
at nothing.
Like an inside joke that even I don't understand.
It seems like an epiphany,
it seems so near enlightenment,
my eyes grow weak
from the flame of Truth
and purest passion
and my eyelids fall reluctantly
under the weight of the world
as it moves from my shoulders
into the stars