Long is the Hour

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It is hot, sticky and sweet.
Not the same as other days.
Pinheads of condensation on glasses and brows.
Heat permeating skin brings up musk.
Trembles.
Sparkles in the light.
Runs down the back of my neck.
What are we all made of that is the same?
Don’t resist. Rising. Gasping.
Like the wine, it will hit and sway.
Forget about it all.
Everything fades.
Evaporates.
Why do we fret on love and loss –
Or why do we do anything else to avoid it?
It is all and nothing.
Nothing and all.
What if I disappeared tonight
Into the haze of the heat,
The hot, shimmering summer night unlike all others.
The eve of my birthday.
The eve of my birth.

“He could face the next hour when the next hour arrived.”
– The Heart of the Matter, Graham Greene.


{Kuntsrule stories are written by our readers. Share your own at Kuntsrule Submission.}

pics via weheartit.com

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