Darkness Escapes Through Morning’s Door

I wrote this poem a few years ago, and although I think it’s good, I’ve been playing around with it for months now.

The moon is fading on its canvas
As I pour us another glass.
‘Softly’ I say ‘play me the oldest song.
Play me the oldest song you know. Begin.’

Bow discarded on the chair, you pluck your viola
As darkness escapes through morning’s door.

The candle holds its glow around the 4am of us.
Notes tenderly flow through your skin,
Swinging, pregnant in the moon glow
While I hunt among the stars.

Your breath – melodic – sings
As darkness escapes through morning’s door.

The song of you hangs from my sincere shoulders
When I kiss the musical passage of your neck.
We fall among the cool soft sheets.
As my fingers play contented in your hair,

The viola silence, wine glasses on the floor,
And darkness escapes through morning’s door.

The last change was the final couplet. Changed from “Lost in each other, the viola falls to the floor,/And darkness escapes through morning’s door.” The pretence of the viola had already been revealed by this point, I think, so I “silenced” it.