Each new moment in an affair of secrecy builds into something tangible at every second. And even if there has been a clause for separation, and words of endings, and days of silence-we become not only ourselves but the experience. It resonates deep in your lungs, and creeps slowly into our bones-each rib breaths in and out with the pungency of an enigma. Friendship is the bare bones of a body that has been plucked of a transpired romance. And in the accusation of sunlight it is the most pure. Each wrinkle of past nights in a strange bed that became a familiar spot, and sweat that formed in between skin pressed together into one shape, and explosive sex that went from lustful stimulation into a craved routine. As we turn into pumpkins, and the magnitude of those brown eyes are pulled away with no effort-I sulk back into the expired daylight. Out from the comfort of the unseen-dragging with me the increased weight of a severing uncertainty. Once more I’m left as the bare bones of a relationship left quiet until spoken.

-b