At the stroke of twelve
in the pitch of a moonless night.
The March wind howls through the trees
Winter's last breath offers a frosty bite

I sit in darkness save for the glow
of my computer screen as I tap, tap, tap and the words doth flow
writing stories with all the seeming
of the springtime for so long I've been dreaming

From somewhere beyond my room
I hear a faint squeak, soft as a mouse
From my tales, for a moment, I did rouse
Again I heard the soft implore
Instinctively I looked through the glass door
into the darkness where
The pitch of night, I see, but nothing's there

Then slowly a shape starts to take form
whereupon it was the norm
But still I am not certain
could be the reflection of the dark and velvet curtain
with it's excess length piled upon the floor
A movement suddenly I am sure
A movement there, just outside the door

Two glowing orbs appear, staring in at me from the gloom
Like burning embers yearning to gain entrance to my room
Four white daggers emerge, white razor sharp teeth
From the maw behind those daggers comes another soft squeak
It is he! He is home!

Sleek, majestic, black as night
Eyes like velvet, green and bright
He sits patiently awaiting my invitation
that I may validate his visitation

I crossed the room to open the door
faster now than ever before
all my soul within me began to stir
to drink in the softness of his fur

I slide the door just wide enough for his lanky body to slink past.
He stops. Hesitant now, he rubs the door frame of the glass.
Ready now he slinks through the opening, home at last

Giving a small quiver he shakes the night's darkness from his coat
Glancing over his shoulder at the dog he did gloat
She raised her canine head in interest, but dare not bark

Trotting into the room he hooks his sleek, black tail into a question mark
As if to say Hello? How have you been? Love me?
I answer his gentle question with a cuddle, a head butt, cheeks rubs and glee
Yes I love you
He purrs into my ear,
"I love you, too."