One single moment, to launch me into a dizzying life, with the tension sliced in half, as I unsheathe the perennial knife. A bladed, cold comfort sharpened on the stone of a delirious mind.
Ire, and ardour, tumultuous fire beckons in the glimpse of a fragile life, in the dull echo of time. A cavernous hole, offering up its respite, while shadows cast on walls speak of long-lost moments left behind.
Trembling lips struggle, and a voice threatens to break. The demure, mature turtleneck, rolled up to a countenance out of breath. There’s a definite urge, while you’re irrevocably spent. I guess the wings gave out, the heaven sent.
Standing on the edge of tomorrow. An uncertain, mixed up fate. It would all melt, like the snow on an awning on a crisp December morning, if we nestled the faded warmth of cardboard sleeves, interlocked arms, sharing a chilled gasp.
No holding back, as the force of fate intertwines with the jaws of death, that we are aligned still, for a heartbeat with tempered breath. There it reigns immortal, but not for all time. It is now and forever after, the first glance to the last.