To Night

You have gone too far
rubbing your velvety hands up my spine.
On tip-toe I have checked the closets.
They are sinister. Something’s not right about the hinges.
And the shadows are all on strings.
Who keeps upsetting them?
I’ve checked under the bed,
opened each kitchen cabinet, braced for the possibility
of horrible curled limbs and a wicked smile
instead of the stacks plates.
You keep up your stroking on the nape of my neck,
keep up your whispering about the wicked things
invited in by sleep.
Whatever I said before, please,
I would prefer to be alone tonight.