Love letter # 546

Autumn. Evening. Dusk like scented smoke. Soft chill. Like the way you once sighed; and I so nearly touched you. But didn’t.

A petal shivering. Tear of dew on downy skin. As though anything firmer than quiet longing would turn the bloom to dust. I heard the wave of your breath crashing. The tide receding. A knot in my sinews.

Minutes later. Forever after. In the bright artificial light of separate rooms. Distance illuminated. Your vaporous sensuality dispersed. The moment. You. Gone.

Autumn. Night. Street lamps and houses. All the far off engines.

Behind drawn curtains we wait for the mask of sleep. I silence my thoughts to hear you whisper. You exhale like the breeze of years. Antennas on my forearms rustle like leaves. As though, as mizzle, you had settled there, and I had sweetly drowned.





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