Nighttime Cliffs

I had started out to the cliff tonight,
It was colder than I expected while
I was inside. But that has been the case,
These past few weeks and months before.
The view was jet black, silvery like large
Mats of obsidian fields reflecting internality.

There was my new friend, our old Pacific.
I've made love to that view once prior.
I've made love to that sound once prior.
When Mother Ocean sang her low songs,
And flashed her vivid green, bright red, ancient azure.

It was so diff'rent then.

Now obsidian fields flashed back,
Like a dark slippery face, unrevealed intentions
That moved inches below the black tarp.
This friend, ancient and old, replaced
My mothers hands, my sisters grasp,
Her bosom.

This friend is my externalization.

Slivers of silver line across the tarp,
Going in and out of view like
Christmas lights far off at distance,
As fish awakened and empow'red
By the bright moon, standing steeled above.

I watch myself from that white light in black,
So inspired by blackness, so bright,
So visible, as Milton's hell,
Lightless fires emitting cold.
But I see Eden from where I stand.

I can still remember life before the Fall.

I just don't want it anymore.