The End

A sunset of blood and gold,
more than anything we could ask for.

We stand
in the very place we stood all those years ago.
Warm and sweating,
your hand seeks me
and I squeeze in reassurance.

A gnarled tree twirls and dips away from the cracked earth,
having seen through the seasons and sunsets.
It is beautiful.

Your searing hot lips run me through
as if on a wooden pike.
It is not the time for play,
but this is our last chance.
I surrender to your simple wisdom
and move with you in ways
that we could only move together.

We lay
in the same spot where we have waited for the sunset.
An inevitable and wonderful release of heat
and color
that would mark the passage of time.
A cloud drifts over our perfect setting sun
to embrace the coming moon.
The air is cool and comfortable.

That tree no longer bears fruit
and the leaves no longer change,
just as our feelings.

The approaching moon looms on the horizon,
a constant reminder.
Our hands entwine;
yours hot and mine cold.
Let’s not forget.
A bluish-white moon grows fat as it travels up the sky.
A ripe peach tumbles from the tree’s branches
and lands between us.

We sleep
in the very place we always dreamed of resting
our weary and memory-fogged eyes.

We sleep
knowing that the end has come.
It is beautiful.