in which you remember my name
Honey spills over parted lips and navy-blue waves crash against dark sand, sending a spray of sea salt like glass beads that shudder the air before condensing at the corners of your closed eyelids.
The sea is mourning tonight and our cupped hands do little to protect the golden flame of the candle between us. It shudders in a wind we cannot feel as the gulls hang motionless far above, as if by threads.
We know this place is not meant for us, not meant for fragile vessels of blood and bone, but as the sky comes crashing down we can only lay back, honey-lips open in something between a sob and a scream though no sound escapes them, hands intertwined as our eyes glaze over.