To my sweetest,
You awash me: frigid white wind on tides so elusive, so blue and so full of furious passion that I'm not sure they belong here in this world of ours, the one so seeped with the light tea of yellow languishment and violet melancholia. The eclipse portends to our touch, for every peak of nothing's portrait is where we meet— Mount Olympus' crown: lancing through my agony, nay, lancing through my ecstasy. For they're one in the same in regards to you. Shadows are but a heavy, damp shroud to those soft, stolen pleasantries. I find you where there might have once been a horizon, smudged between the esoteric press of lips and folding of hands; I find you in the immemorial gasp between birdsong and silence; I find you where the flowers bend.
yours forever,
josie