What Say You To The Night?

If I have ever met someone so grand, it must be the one with the cigarette in his hand. The mysterious stranger, giving us an inkling of danger, charming us with our fear, making us draw near. As he lifts the collar of his dark overcoat, a chill thrills my spine, clogging my throat. The tip of lit ash lights his brow in a flash. With the slithering smoke rising from his mouth, a cold sharp wind comes from the south. My silly, wild eyes, naught recognize. My bare, white chest bears innocence and fear as its crest. As I approach the dark body timidly, I see the sparkle of his eyes but dimly. And in the strange, unnerving blackness I see that familiar human harness. I think to myself the night has embodied an elf and sends him forth to me, for my unsettled imagination to see. He has leaned against the wall, his body curving withall, his long, lean hands serving as iron-brands. Grasping the vibration of my curious damnation, he springs forth, ducking his chin, as I ready myself to bear the horror within. I expect a monster, a beastly behaviour my approach hath fostered. A wry smile touches his lips, as he traces my shoulder with his fingertips. I would never understand how that moment could fly out of my hand. Nothing was left in my head, just the concept of feelings long dead. I stood stock still as his membres abruptly sent a chill, turning to stone on my collarbone. I tasted the bile, it felt futile. A gratuitous passing of long caged feelings, a mercifully releasing explosion of forgotten dealings. It passed, and then he gasped.
Taken by surprise by the plan his mind was to devise, he took a sharp breath of air, sliding his hand in my electrified hair. Sanity was a distant echo, to me.
"What say you to love tonight?"
"What say you to a stranger and his plight?"
"What one feels."
"...Assuming one is head over heels?"
"Ah, Romantic ordeals..."
And as he crushed the tobacco under his foot, my heart in his caught root. With fear I came closer, with my spirit next to its original composer. Such a feeling of delight gripped my head and held it tight, as I wandered with my Stranger in the dark, never knowing if he will depart. I dared not speak a sound, for he seemed pleased with us silent-bound. And in fear for myself I then dwelled, having my spirit callously impelled, to act as a protective glove for my Stranger's withering love. I took the blows and scratches of the cold to keep alive the fire of old. Knowing it would too soon die, I gave myself no time to cry. So there I went, from one cage to another and if it was of fear or love I ceased to wonder.
With a knot I was tied to the ground, having a dry, sandy soil found. I felt jarred, my knuckles swelled, for having all those threats repelled. My purpose was gone, my phantasmagorical battles were won. The earth I had found for my rooting love was shrunken like a dying dove. The mystery of the Stranger was gone, being now replaced by a want of none. I despised his obscureness, my heart convulsed at the sight of his dark dress; hopelessly I wished to brighten his tress.
Though on first sight, the warm, flowing night was all alight, digging further into his heart one found naught but a playing card, bending as the wind, an opaque glass shard. His skin was so terribly hard.
That, my friends, brings us to the day; yes, I'm still trying to get away. Do not judge me for giving my consent for the love that came and went.
If he, for a moment, had noticed your graceful flight, what would you have said to the alluring night?