Blow out the candles, unplug the phone.
There won't be electricity for hours.

Don't tell me you're afraid of the dark;
we're no longer children alone in our beds.
Let's switch to another radio station.
This night of rain calls for Tchaikovsky.

Hush. Listen to the patter on palm leaves.
I've left all the French windows open.

Do you remember how we raced our bicycles
up the hill while our fathers watched?
We rolled on the ground in mock brawl,
whispered who was to win the round.

This futon is made for two. It's time to cut
the act, rub our evening stubbles like cats.