Brilliant

Brilliant! Brilliant little clatter,
I am in love with you, Night!
Your clicks and rustles,
your gentle creaks.
I could cry just to glance up
at your black thumb,
pricked so many times.

The grace of your body's many pieces,
aches inside of me.
No one could ever pull the crimson thread from you
and learn your secrets.
Your stars stay silver and do not shed a single drop.
When we beg you, have pity on our soft skin!,
you close your wings and turn to stone:
I will not be moved to flight
by human whims.
(Though we alone among heartbeats
feel full to feast our eyes on your fluttering cape.
Does such prostration mean a thing to you?)

I press my head against the pillow,
bright with hungers yet pawed by sleep;
it is the fate of mortals
stretching their fingers to the sky.
You are cruel, not even holding me
in your deep cheeks for a moment,
not even flicking your tongue between my lips
for a second to teach my tongue a shred of your elequence,
before pushing down my lids with unwanted peace.