Brief Encounter

Sometimes, a gentle push— a warm hand seizing you, rolling you out into new heights, far into the ravenous night, risking an emotional death, singing the blues with voluptuous smiles, tender hearts, soft as marshmallows and sweet as pie. Looking back with a toothache, I'm content with our brief encounter. You gave me a set of training wings, and I gave you a sacrificial mount, with four nails and a wooden cross. You offered me sweet melodies, melancholic to the ear, yet fertilizing the thirsty, depleted soil. Rainbows come in their rainfall, but even then, they disappear, disappear into the background, with the promise of return. In times like these, I learn not to hinder myself in the sweet tones of life, asking myself, What is permanent and immune to the slurping evanescence? My eyes squint to that mount as my knees shake in their last moments of pride.