night spent worrying about dawn

only the men cry
in huts and shadows that hold the tight
in pages that no one reads
in songs no one hears
in clay molded just for them
hold on dear
sweet prince
of the night
and the darkness
with no script to read
your silken exterior
your flesh like silk
the eyes that say
fuck off
the mind that says
mine
the body that exclaims
dirty
you dirty bastard
with all of the
looks claiming civility
and this is what it has become
nights of no return
and
shadows of what once was
so simple
it was called
US