Clay

‘Neath the waning sun, where light kisses the edge of dusk,  
Borrowed time unravels, as clouds do in a restless breeze.  

Their hands entwine, roots tangled in barren soil,  
Grasping in futility at the fading warmth,  In the earth, now soft and surrendering.  

Breath will surely still as night descends, Words crumble, dust to air.
Yet unspoken vows linger,
In the stillness, damp, cold and unyielding.  

He kissed her lips, soft yet cold, one final touch upon clay,  an earthly farewell.
The warmth has long since fled,
Leaving only a chill.

When her eyes gently closed, the stars blinked into existence,

and the world seemed to exhale.

He stood now as a solitary figure,

With nothing but the echo of her heartbeat,  

And the cool imprint of her lips of clay.