In The Night’s Belly

Poetry

Image Source: Pixabay

My dreams were the
goblets of nectar
that the night drank
to its stomach's content.
The moon cradled
all my secrets
in its cream palms,
while the stars clinked
glasses of champagne
and gossipped
about my scars.
Sometimes, the midnight
sucked all my thoughts
with a velvet straw
and built a palace for them
in its ambrosial belly.
How can I write,
if all my muses
were safely ensconced
inside the night's belly?
But she gives them to me
at the right time
and words stream
like shooting stars.
Ah, I am astonished
that even if I could
write so much,
the night still holds
my poet's rights!
Will I ever be able
to write without the night?