NIGHTFALL v SUNDOWN

Nightfall is worse than sundown
for one thing it's 45 minutes later
and, the killer part, infinitely more
final and deflating. We pray.
We pray for cancer patients, self-limiting
behavior, and taking away of the evil eye,
placed by gypsies upon the grandmother
of our supplicant, a woman whose fate
is so full of pain, a complete stranger
at a costume ball, seeing only
her eyes exposed, exclaimed
she was cursed. Nightfall is worse
than sundown. Sundown points to sunrise,
a stay of execution, a possible full pardon,
but nightfall moans loud of dying,
demise, the mal occhio
of mediaeval times. After nightfall
all we have left are mullings and ravings
and the breaking of the fast of no sex.
It's a double blessing to make love
on the Sabbath. We try. We try hard.
A man tries to please a woman.
A woman tries to be pleased.
We attempt these liaisons because
nightfall is worse than sundown.
We plan our lives around the cycle
of the week, but none of us are tough
enough to toss off the night's embers.
We touch ourselves till hands burn
loins, then weep ourselves to sleep.