‘tis the time of night when your love struts With a mixed perfume of musk and havana Like a strange deity, dark as the nights Like a work of dead gods of the Savannah. 'tis that time of night I know how to tame Me, by writing; and you, by reciting in constancy. Your eyes are the cistern where my troubles drink But I come here always, seeking trouble constantly. And tonight, I had to run to the place where demons go.