Abbatoir de mon coeur

First kiss, the moonlight rippling on the shore and frightened eyes eddying there in serene pools of brown. The color is so rich and dark it dies into the shadows that surround us. Hands trembling into rhythmed caress as careless shadows conceal all that there should not be.

In four hours sunrise and the pinpoints of your smile vanish like a mirage. Yet deep in those chasms of dusty time the taste of your lips remain.

Moonlight cast on another year, cold wind raking across my back, eyes tilt upward mining skies for that wonderful memory.

The memory that never happened.