The Face of Beauty

The Sun sprinted down the corridor, how could it have forgotten to salute the night, "am I too late?" it pondered nervously. A turn of the Night's bedroom door-handle without a knock revealed a world unknown, a world wild, a world in the midst of a full-blown depraved heave; the calm creatures of the day, those resting and pondering and basking, had become writhing, hungry silhouettes swaying in the cool breeze of desire; the Night's plan unfolding in a smooth transition from light to dark...


"Whaa, uh, I, uh, pardon me, but I, uh, forgot to wish you, uh, well" fumbled the Sun. 


"Ah, HELL-ohh, no knock, eh? Ha! Nev-er--a-worry, oh, dearest, sincerest Sun, come on in and have a drink" the Sun watched as the Night's blood-tipped fingers firmly clasped a bottle of reserve, diamonds and jewels draped across its wonderfully dishonest disposition. 


"It's, uh, well....it's getting late, you, you see. I, uh, I...." nervously stammered the Sun.


"Sun, ha-ha-ha, my SUN, you worry too much; always in that head of yours" said the Night, gasping a big in-breathe while playfully biting its bottom lip, its fingernail, slowly tracing the cusp of an inviting proposition.


The Sun bashfully lifted its eyes to meet the Night's; the Night was in full-grin, welcoming, easy. The Sun, weighted down by morality, couldn't help but smile back; intrigued by the Night's endless ease.


"Listen, look here" said the Night, pointing towards a star-stricken marsh. 


"Watch, just, um, watch this, my dear Sun. Your creatures are creatures, after-all. Watch and listen, my dearest, sincerest Sun." 


...and so the Sun apprehensively glanced down towards the land....


Olivier the Bullfrog entered the marsh, proud in stroll, twisting ever-so-slightly at the hip as to accentuate his masculine posture; his eyes falling gently upon his onlookers, absorbing their loving gazes. He looked into the twilight-lit water's surface, eyes sparkling like a distant sunlit tide; one final reassuring glance before he unravels the quiet one's illusion of composure and locks her into a state of hope and caring. 


The Night's eyelids drooped down, hardening its expression...


"The Face of Beauty, do you have something against it?" inquired the Night.


"Well, no, no, it's, it's, well..." choked the Sun.


"Then why don't you come and have a drink, oh dearest, sincerest Sun? Your travels along eternity road, ha!, what travels, what weight....there's nothing to find, you're chasing your own mind, your own delusions" described the Night as it stroked its flowing mane of amorality.


The Sun glanced down towards the land once more, watching as Olivier gripped the hand of his quiet one, all clockwork now; rhythm swayed into motion. 


A great wave of exhaustion billowed up from the pit of the Sun's heart; eyes, dampened, shoulders, relinquishing.


"I, uh, I think it's getting a little late, I, um, I best be on my way" said the Sun as it nervously twisted its bottom lip with its fingers.


The Night dropped its chin and raised its glass "as always, a pleasure, my, my dearest, sincerest Sssss'un."


"Yes, it's uh, it's always, always, uh, nice to see, to see you" muttered the Sun as it took one last  glance around the Night's room.


"Goodnight", saluted the Sun.


"You mean, GOOD-DAY, my dearest, sincerest!" introjected the Night.


"Oh, er, yes, yes, that's true. Well, bye" and the Sun slowly closed the Night's bedroom door and began to walk, hands-in-pockets, eyes intensely fixated on the ground in front of it. Unbeknownst to it at the time, its next phase of self-appraisal would be its most challenging.