That dark lover

She waits in rain-slick dresses made of night.
She leans bored, in empty doorways beckoning
“come along,” she whispers.

She always whispers.

She hates neon and sunrise
Sleeps in well past noon
Basks in the dark places

And always whispers

She is always waiting and ready to embrace
To drown deep within her bosom.
Her icy kiss is the touch of emptiness

And she always whispers

She arrives uninvited
Often unwanted
Yet her love is alluring

But, she always whispers