I interrogate the sunset as if it holds the secret, or at least the answer, only if I know the question.
The last ray has exited, then another, and another. How many chances do I get?
Maybe I’m missing the point? God, I hope I’m missing the point. Don’t let me cheapen you. Don’t let me envelope you. Don’t let me even getting close.
I’d rather be lost than stumble upon your lair by chance.
I love your dark figures, retreating footsteps, thieving squirrels and exotic death. Life for a song, a muse. Maybe it’s that easy. How do I treasure you then? Wrapping my ribcage around your fragile universe? Is that my role?
Take it. Take it! It’s all too precious.