487.

A surrealistic
fanfare, solipsistic in
its failing wonder.

486.

The dragging feet of
fall finally bestows the
sweetest of kisses.

485.

The press of fingers
a slow benediction, with
me as your altar.

484.

Such safety in the
stretch of arms full reach, holding
me gently captive.

483.

My fingers carded
through your hair, trying to read
emotion's beneath.

482.

You tasted of joy
and laughter, bubbling beneath
that tongue's soft surface.

481.

It was a fall sky,
not unlike this one's moment,
completely suffused.