like this until the weak light pops in the strength of the sun.

A pre-fall night—a moment where the chilled breeze floats around us after speeding over it’s sister’s mirrors cold salty surface—and I will know you, and you—

You know me.

There is a tenderness located in the touch of a knuckle softly along the downy hairs of a man’s cheek that no words can reproduce.

If you do that—If I do this,

Our metal, our ink, will meld and we will become one design.