Night Itself

Now that the veil of love
has dissolved into night itself,
we won't need to waste the evening
asking, "Are we one or two?"
We can skip this bewildering foreplay
and move straight to the moment before dawn,
piercing the dark with a sudden inhalation,
both you and I the same breath.
The others are sleeping, dreaming of us,
not only the bridesmaids,
but the lonely, the rich and destitute.
When they awaken, they will never know
how we contained them as the sky
contains clouds,
as a lake disturbed by April
contains a thousand rippling moons.
We are two mirrors gazing
with the speed of light,
shattering against each others emptiness.
This is how, in the abyss,
we make wine out of stars.