At the End of the Evening

It's dark now 

quiet at the end of the evening. 
Distant highways 
urban oceans muted, respectful 
as the cool air return clicks in purring 
and we feel comfort in our chests kneeling before their beds 
Brahman behind their eyes 
soft, pulsing, fragile as eternity 
visitors. 
Our hands instinctive, dark, find each other 
resisting pressure 
willing to admit the joy in passage 
as the stars rise and peak visible in an easy blackness 
that I simply touch until she lifts me brushing my forehead 
with her mouth and I know I was sleeping out of turn. 
There will come a night soon that we too shall lay 
Brahman behind our eyes 
and those that we had watched will know as truth 
that neither of us went first 
that at the end of the evening we went together.