Shivers

Past midnight, this dark hour. In the road
you rather sense than see the houses, few
and far beween. There is no light, not one
lone watcher, not a single soul in sight -
just moonless sky, dark asphalt and the ghosts
of gaunt, bare trees. Tomorrow will be cold
and slightly foggy... This late winter's night
sits on my shoulders like a Judas kiss:
half tempting, almost nice and looking right
and yet unpleasant, false, and quite amiss.