you

There is a look tethered to a blush, a whispering of blood, a lingering of heat. Eyes fixed on the transience of skin, bright and unyielding. A gaze always falling into that remembered edge, that certain light that finds you, awake and aware. The night has settled to feast upon you, enraptured in clinging dreams, alight and alive. So you shine.

It is the weather wound through my skin, the cracks and the stitching, the realization that touch is the crafting of time and attention, that every memory is corrupt. The time that declares in the clock strike of bones, the sinking certainty of the marrow. The shaven ache of the hip, the sullen swagger of these ashes of desire. It is the strength of all fire, as it slowly subsides from action. It is the heat of every last glimmer.

It is the trick of how I can see you, knowing only that I can not help but be mistaken. Knowing that your misgivings should suppose enough. How it is not so much the details, the clarity of your gaze, the shabbiness of my guise. How it is simply the intensity of expression I am always stunned that I could forget. Not the fevers but the fears. Never the torment, just the ecstasy of finding you at last.