Placid Nox Poem by Moth Harris

Quivering hands meet and lace to the skin.
Delicate is your palms although nervous with attention.
Time dwindles as the clock spirals in its intervals,
and latched hands make way to ones rest.
Lay your head down and close your eyes for now,
The night's darkness seems to be burning away.

Exhausted eyes meet trite surroundings,
We lay the day away, the sun falls asleep now too.
As do you, on my shoulder lays your pretty face.
Exhausted from another day where hearts conflate,
but it's well worth it to hold your gentle hands this late.