The dark line of the horizon didn’t stir. It was either the mountains or the line of your shoulders, I can’t remember which; I considered them both for so long. Though the contour was so crisp, so clearly distinct where the world ended and you began, I couldn’t bring myself to reach out and touch the peaks where the snow fell in darkness and your shoulder blades bowed in repose.

The sun rose as you began to breathe that morning, inhaling the burn of gravity in light. The breeze brought your eyes alive (I could swear the yellow of them had taken over) and like the sky content at the suns arrival, I relaxed into completion.

Time made its movements as we talked in whispers across warm skin, tired eyes landing across the distance. That muted room was ignited with your presence (maybe the rivers only flow when we stare at them). I remember I got lost in the moment, feeling the grass on my fingertips and you on my lips; these recollections fusing into flashes across my memories. But in that instant, the world stopped spinning and you and I took up in its place (I’m sure the sunset was late that night).

And how natural that shine comes to your eyes; the stars captured in the dusky blue of them as you beam at me with a laugh that washes me ashore on your torso, at night, in bed, with you, as we talk in whispers, as we close the distance. It was either the cool night breeze or your exhale of exhausted satisfaction, I can’t remember which; I drank up both so favorably. When you sleep my dear, the world is quiet without you (and I await the dawn).