Death

In, through her eyes he swims and breaths the sky that reflects within her gaze. Time releases its grasp on order, waves of tears and salty seas roll. She new the time had come. The grey cast of her skin on warmth contrasted to his ripe vitalities stain, as age and sun tell a tale.

Upon gnarled bones of coldness, creases of flesh hang moist and clammy. Brambles and blood and sweat and grime reek from her apron that protects the simple garment beneath. listless and unwashed hair clings to the filth of her demise. Tacky film as thin as skin fuses her cheek close to his. Fevers shiver, long spent, leaves nothing, save the rattle of breath’s labour. As one they are their last waltz’s stage. Performers dressed in scents of sea and age and decades long decayed; no sweeter fragrance could perfumes imitate. No sense of peace and belonging could one fathom more keenly.

Each detail nails its poignance to her conscious that her soul might ever know dear these moments. Faded weather-painted pine, whitewashed in seasons recurring for eons hold the structure together. The veranda hugs them close and camouflages the boundaries between threshold and world, blue upon blue upon grey. A crowd of waves let out their roar like a stadium filled to capacity.

This where, where they were does not exist anymore. It remains preserved in the passages of communication and dimensions that tunnel through time.

Moons of wisdom pass across their eyes and light the way. She falls out of space and into the certainty that love awaits.

Words flee the beauty of inevitability. The breaths remaining grasp frailly for purchase on barnacle encrusted boulders. Jewels of jagged pain cut her senses and rend each muscle useless. Aimless reaching into a life long committed to detachment from preservation takes its toll and surrenders to the path of cycles and returning. To lives yet known and loves yet loved. The end passes into time and becomes a layer in piles of living. The scents of violets and salt skate through the fogs of memory, tickling at the edge of a conscience that she and he could both in a moment of instance share between them. They know that their sharing is nowhere and everywhere in all times.