Past Perfection Due

It is dusk.

The clouds, whimsical in an orchestra silent to all but your eyes, begin to glow in peace.

You stand upon an edge which drops off to an endless windowpane of water, stretching out to the horizon, where there rests yet another edge;

An edge which seems to hold the end of time and space on a golden platter, an edge with no return; an edge which lies but only a lifetime away.

Time is in reverse.

The sun rises when it should so appropriately set, the sky changes its colour in a collage of wonder that ultimately reflects back in the darkness of your pupils;

Something so perfect, so magical, that even its most obvious details could never be portrayed by the stroke of an artist's hand.

And so the clock continues to wind backwards...

The softness of your hair brushes across my face again.
Your hand, fragile in its beauty, slides its fingers through mine.

I feel the warmth of your body on mine; your cheek pushes my cheek, your leg folds over my leg, your toes tickle my toes...your lips press my lips.

Time stops.

The curve of the sun meets the horizon, a deep orange englufs our bodies as we continue to live in the moment, and the rest of the world seems to drag behind.

Dusk creeps once again.

The sun disappears; Time, Reality, return envious of a love powerful enough to defeat them both, and the moment is over.

Oh how I wish that moment continued for a lifetime... frozen, like the reflection of a sunrise tattoed over the skin of the ocean at dawn...


Copyright Jamie J. Christie, 2004