The Early Night Is Pitch Black Poem by Gert Strydom

The early night is pitch black,
with only Venus,
the evening star shining
and the others are still to come
and just above the horizon
as if it was hiding somewhere,
the moon creeps out
and cannot decide
if it's going to be yellow or white

and you my love puff at a cigarette
blowing a cloud of smoke
into the air
and above us somewhere
a bird flies past
a dark thing on wings
screeching out a cry
and your face is soft
against the glowing cigarette
and softer yet against my lips
with the cigarette forgotten
in your finger tips.