Only a lover of the night, only a lover of her beauty 
can stand by her while it is the deepest hours of
abysmal dark.

While the air is the most eeriest.
When the wind is whispering your name:
like two ghostly lovers looking for
the passion in the dark.

Is there still a spark of light
other than this cold and distant
shining of the stars
from the galaxies above?

Nyctophilia in my veins
I still do keep on gazing
on her glorious beauty.
Eternally visual.