Moments at Balbec
- ryanamorgan345
- May 23
- 2 min read
She masked her face behind the outstretch of two hands,
all the while laying as close to me as possible.
Through tightknit pores and unbridled desire
my body absorbed what melted off of her.
Neither she nor I acknowledged this,
forcing our eyes just over the horizon,
in hopes of conjoining with the fading blues
disappearing from the sovereignty of day.
However, as soon as the sky was no more,
we remained; alone in the pastoral deadness.
No longer could I ignore those two hands
obscuring what I truly wished to see:
eyes that transfix me, leaving me
without a sense of time. Within her timelessness
I feel the urge to collect all I can,
knowing it will slowly escape me
when a power greater than both of us notices
how we dither in the space between time.
The night became starry, twinkling in its vast stillness.
This stillness was transient, moving
with a force unimaginable to the futurists of before.
Everything around us wept, and the act
of wrapping myself around you,
bringing you into what is me seemed so simple —
separated from the grandness that enveloped us.
With matching sight, we understand
our bodies are no more,
lost in the eternal that floats out into itself.
Wholly new yet weighed down
in the fabrics of tradition. Those of before,
those twos that have become ones,
they linger to keep us warm;
showing sprawling history that we must obey.
His call is completely sound.
It no longer includes fear — only the end
of separation, and the turn into a space
where words fail. All will be as it remains now;
numbing warmth constricting limbs
that do nothing but hold us together,
fading sight cascading like the day
that once reigned, wine soaking
into the graves soon to be carved.
We’ll wait longingly for our senses to burn out.
Freshly combined, they’ll fade
like everything before, leaving us nothing
except a faint self that drifts off
into the nothingness completely emboldened
by the emptiness that is space and black.
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