Until it’s time for you to go

Until it's time for you to go...

A sliver of white light on bare skin; glittering with diamonds of sweat. The morning has broken.

Tired limbs, muscle ache - a faint nostalgia of the evening: cold stars piercing the crispy black cloth of the universe, sharp as pins.

Pins - pains - pines. Tall, green, unreachable pines, swaying up-above-beyond the clouds on a chilly, foggy morning...

The morning has broken. Arms flexing, feet brushing, ears straining. The flannel of a blanket against the bare warmth of the body. An open wound. A wound-up toy. A ball on a string.

The tongue of light slid through the tight shutters. A mountain rose, waterfalls of trees and grasses and flowers sliding down his shoulders in folds. He left without looking back.

He found and neglected his pale wildwood flower.