Yet...

Glass of wine...

Guitar and lute plucking away at memories of a time not quite here yet...

Yet, the candle tangos, bends over backwards on the arm of my vivid imagination. Half here, but also half there, my quivering eyes stumble past your face and into your body.

You know I think you don't even notice...

But I'm as subtle as a door in what I do...

These candles. With so much attention to grab in such a dark room, they give much of it to your eyes. Your teeth. Your laughter...

They somehow illuminate the sound of your breath as it spills out half in comedy and half in lustful remembrance.

The room is now breathing the music. The wine captures the glance of the flame as I take your glass from you and place it. On the table. On the final note. Final keystroke. Final fade...

You hover into me in a room in which all I see is a bent reflection and a quivering dance going on in the sockets of your skull.

Your move.

Your. Move...

This goes down much easier than the wine: you place your lips on my cheek and my hand begins strumming the lute itself.

A resting place for your face awaits its fulfillment as your hair brushes past my arm...

15 seconds ago, I commented on how fast the summer went by. What seemed like days later, I opened my eyes to see a nearly empty glass, two candles burnt to the base, one fleeting from existence, and a smile on my face...

It's been a great summer.

Just not a perfect one, yet.