Smoke rimmed with red, from the early bleeding sun. Smoke, gray, acrid from my mouth into there, where I look across the steaming pool, beyond the ciment valley, over the forgetful, sleeping mountains. The last time I thought of you, we forgot everything life held and laboured into grandiose designs; grand and great; soft and dramatic. Cold earth, wringing hands on my knees and my eyes look ever closer into the dramatic scenes of stupored existence. Forgetful ourselves we love into night, languish the running sands together until the enormity of it all consumes the perfection that blessed us. A pull, then we breathe, speechless in this condensed moment. So many thoughts cannot be contained, breath exists yet the sleek coldness of your warmth awakes centuries of my mind; thaw and boil. The moment never altered, never faded. I would be the skytop angel descending, the fallen angel at your knees, by your will. By your grace.
Smoke seeping through my nostrils. Early, with the sun a decorative scripture revealing its hidden purpose, life seemed mysterious, impenetrable - delirious . At the same time, the green waters of the pool reflected the act: a horrid mirror, frantic and mocking with archaic power. Again, life has never been so alone and worthless.
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