Night, Murderous Night

gently, the night slips down on the land, as though
someone has lovingly placed her hand on your head

and all one's sorrows and troubles are gone all at once, as though
all one's complaints are lost in the vague half-light of dusk, as though
you and me have become intimate once again, as though

this is but a beautiful lie, beware!
the night might wear
glittering starry anklets on its feet
but, its soft hands hold
the dagger of loneliness

the dagger with which
it has murdered heaven-knows-how-many
unfortunate souls

its fragrant lips
have sipped the blood
of countless heart-broken souls

do not be taken in by the words
of the night's oh-so-sweet lips

do not fall for
the intoxicatingly slow sway of its hips

the night is a merciless, professional murderer
no matter how fragrant-glittering-intoxicating the night
do not be taken in by its soft, warm hands
do not fall into the night's soft, warm, murderous hands!