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Ménage (What Comes to Light)

I am the blackened
canvas where the
flexed and slackened
sinewed ghosts
of your regrets
come to disrespect
the light by making
reckless love to us
each night you dare.

I lovingly share
draping myself
over you both
countless times,
embracing you
and she – whoever
she may be
for I’m not choosy
and lack any
discerning light

– I embrace all,
lie and truth,
blessings and guessing
earnest grinding and
deceitful pressing;

but you only
ever noticed me
during the lessons
the lie sessions,
the self-deceptions,
the indigo-black
lack of reflection

contrasting with
the random gleaming
revealing moonbeam
showing coveted
curved, selected
mounds of flesh
waiting to be blessed,
devoured in secret.

I am both cloak
and receptacle
of our naked
sweat-soaked spectacle.

Only I recall
how frequently
and sweetly you
enjoyed your fleeting
secrets as I took
you both, erasing
your sordid twisted
tryst from view of all
but just us three in
the menagerie,

but don’t fret
on our vignette,
regret is staved-off
just as long as you
can let the triad
of our ballad be,
refraining from your
banishing me
from our night
by reaching
for that light.

Take what she gives
in my shadow;
fondle us both
as you fumble-grip
her hips within
our colorless sin.

It matters little
to me, for when
the lamp begins
to bring you clarity
to see your folly,

I will be long gone,
leaving you to mourn,
facing this self-made
quandary in solemn
solitary.

I’m just the night
who loves carefree;
what comes to light
ain’t up to me.
***

Written for NaPoWriMo’s day 17 prompt: “write a poem that similarly presents a scene from an unusual point of view.”