Ink

-6-

After Hours

You sneak through the window, hands clasped firmly against the sill, jagged and dilapidated. The window pane creeks open and my caramel eyes lock onto your orbs. Your eyes are mirrors; I can see the same excitement and bliss I feel in you. When we meet, my heart explodes with elation and I drown in delirium. 

We embrace and I bury my head into your neck's crook. You smell like christmas, cinnamon and embers, crackling and roaring in the hearth. Time crawled to a stop. Silence permeated through the room. You didn't speak a word and my lips were glued, but we still loved. Your coarse hands, rough against my skin, told of years of labour, back-breaking and agonising work...when I knew you wanted to traverse the lands and learn the world's ways. 

To see the sea's rolling plumes, iridescent in the sunset's light. To admire a forest's beauty as nightfall weaved into the sky. To grin at the interlacing, fleecy strands of light through sage leaves. To tickle your fingers in verdant grasslands, as the sky paled, its fleet rowing across, the sails silver and mast majestic. To bustle in the city, the skyline a kaleidoscopic flickr, as you live in comfort. To live in the sands, burning your skin, grating and rough.

But to be anywhere than here.