Drums Of The Celestial Dance

By Temitayo

Since when did the fleeing of the sun at dusk betray its sense of identity?

Did its fiery glance not burn through the dark cloak of the moon by mere hours?

No, it does not please itself in the sweet cooing of mutational comfort.

To think that the moon’s arrival was a picnic alarm, that her back was a curtain to abate the peaking of the earth.

To name her darling and find solace in the scent of her prevaricating garments.

It will not try to believe that her presence has come to stay, that their fleeting contact isn’t within the coat of the night so the eyes of man will forever be blind.

Did it tone down to keep her or forget that inherently bound the moon fades if ever its fire wanes?

Since when is the sun oblivious of her plea to borrow his light?

Did it marvel at the interplay of day and night enough to skip dawn and lay with her?

Since when did codependency become love?