My friend, why do you
call on me this way,
when I am alone in the dark
and have no refuge? —
your familiarity,
so foreign to the daylight,
always guessing my thoughts,
correctly, though I resent it.
You bounce with ease
in the warm evening air,
wafting over my chest
and around my legs,
afraid of nothing,
confident as a trumpet.
How can I not yield?