Golden Hour
somewhere on warm sunday, in the lingering past and an impossible future.
i hold you.
we sway slowly like foxtails in the breeze.
you are a day-dream as warm as golden hours glow, which soon fades to dusk.
it is nothing more than a projection of my fantasies on a tattered movie screen.
i hear your sigh as the reels click, i feel the warmth of your breath against my collarbone. i clench the loose fabric in my fingers holding your waist to mine. i look to your eyes but i can only see your lips, you shush me with the restraint i once had.
i know it’s almost time, i know it’s almost time, can I please have more time?
. . .
i know better.
the amber glow recedes, twilight proceeds and I’m left with the truth.
i leave the windows open but close the blinds. the wind rattles the slats; the faintest
-click-
-click-
-click-
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I don't ever know, how to hold the weight of my soul.
When letting go.
But I'm falling in my own illusion,
I don't know my way back.
~Tongue Tied, Beta Radio.
Paintings:
•Issac Levitan- In the Vicinity of the Savvino-Storozhevsky Monastery (1880)
•John William Ashton- Evening along the Seine.
•Hendrik Pieter Koekkoek- A Faggot Gatherer in the Woods.
•Paul Gustav Fischer- Street At Evening.
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