I come calling wrapped in shadows. I come calling tangled in shaved light. Staring at your open window, or out the window just following the moon. Wherever the mood might find you. Whenever the planets might align. Whether it is the first seen star to affix your wishes, or that latest one to fall to take your wager. Whether the words we find will fill in all the blanks. Whatever the weather, wherever I am, I look to you as the sun fades away.
The season is a voice on the radio. The season is a flavor in the night. The shadows sweep in through the windows, painting the walls, grating the light. Always that drift along any easy axis, the lonesome elliptical and the static we bask in beneath these distant stars. Breath billowing in careless clouds, the world turns its shoulder and we are always waving goodbye. Goodbye to these purple dusks and golden dawns. Goodbye to the wings of providence and the slow warmth that awakens the flesh. These wounds so grave that we see them in everything that is.
I press against the weight of light spilled through windows. I am echoed in the subtle gray of the glass. My breath somehow always drawn like straws, my hands everywhere like leaves. The barely whispered blur and hum of a mosquito the dusk makes manifest. The ancient songs that stir at the faintest scratching of your skin. The words a flood spilling from this fever, this touch that place you always have to go. The missing tooth always remembered most, the tongue takes its shape and takes another turn. I am as warm beside you as any wish. I cling to you with the tenacity of breath, all this urgency then extinction. Always clasped so close all that is left of me is you.
