Forever ago

Fall, somewhere.

Crimson colored clouds forming a cascade. The sun, about to set for the day, in the black swan-lake of your eyes. A kite flying somewhere over the fire-weed field. A blackbird perched on the electric wires that run through. Another on the edge of a pole.

The crimson turns into a soft scarlet, reflecting on your porcelain skin, turning it melon like. The sun, going down, but still there.

A thin veil of fog takes over and suddenly it's grey around us. The sky, a baby blue and then a dusty mauve. The wind carrying the scent of fresh apples, delicate dew drops and the yellowed out pages of old books with corners folded up. A lone single droplet of sweat hanging on the arch of your left brow. Your fingers, soft and pink, resting on the rosewood of the bench.

The sun, now a russet red, going further down and the mist thickening over the pines. Your damp shoulders setting my heart ablaze while my soul goes for a walk along the olive yard, golden at the dawn.

And a thousand evenings later, you find me.