E-706Sigma

The stars are no longer speaking to me. I suppose we're on uncertain terms. This day, we were meant to talk of tomorrow, write love letters to each other and paint  dim yellow light, white sparkling lines, in the crevasses of each other's faces, But, I can't bring myself to - Can't warm fingers against the bones of things I should have done. And this is the way it has fallen, autumn brown, beautiful piles of useless abandon soon forgotten. Surely, the reasons we come to love each other, all those sparkling drops of eternity, cuddling close to bare skin, sweat stained, and smelling of home, and peace, and comfort. Surely,