All night the blush and cooling, the rush of making love again, night light pouring its milk across the bed and later eating strawberries in the dark: their red flesh so bright they flash in the mouth when with each bite the teeth bisect one to its inside white star-shape. The moon going down pales the room to a watery milk. Only a slight flush in the sky. Star-filled, love-bruised, moving apart, we enter again the warm loam of sleep.