i.
she curls to fit into his lines, and his curves, and the bouquet of scents that envelopes him. she could smell the salt of the sea dusting his skin, his fingers smelt like coffee and newspaper ink. under his nails, she could taste her future.
as he pretends to sleep, he feels her press against him and he smiles. her ghost is welcome as long as it wishes, he thinks. the curtains by the window are wistful and willowy and spitefully nostalgic.
iii.
he smells like expensive cheeses and wine and crackers and holding on to the past. she feels like clinging, like old houses and handmade quilts and love inside your bones.
iv.
this is one morning at the end of a long summer, a long whirlwind summer, one that lasted a lifetime and ended in a day. i don't want to wake up and i don't want you to leave and an overwhelming feeling of drowning in the heaviness of the moments past and the memory present.
v.
there are no gutters wide enough for us to lie in so i will lie on top of you, i will breathe beneath you, i will suffer with you -- where are you, where you are, let me wander with you.
iv.
this is one morning at the end of a long summer, a long whirlwind summer, one that lasted a lifetime and ended in a day. i don't want to wake up and i don't want you to leave and an overwhelming feeling of drowning in the heaviness of the moments past and the memory present.
v.
there are no gutters wide enough for us to lie in so i will lie on top of you, i will breathe beneath you, i will suffer with you -- where are you, where you are, let me wander with you.
