equinox
Breathing in your shoulder, I realize I am starting to get cold. That was the cold summer, the coldest one in history. I still see it when I close my eyes, the darting red images burned into corneas. The sun bows down to dip its silver threads and when he kneels into that salty pool the earth opens up and the sea lights up in gold.
Everything is a reflection of a longing; the silver threads like little hands gripping the face into different expressions. The wrinkles that yield deep shadows. Sand under fingernails.
Colder still, I imagine the world growing darker. And we, well we just older.