Jillayne

Nobody ever drinks to forget. Just like nobody ever sleeps to remember.

The lines on your face that extend into the night. Into time. Your laugh that ripples and breaks away from your mouth like a flock of startled morningbirds. The way you pull your hair away from your face, drawing open the curtains to the only day that matters.

There is a sunshine in you that permeates night and cloud and the deepest of earnt sleep. The slow and burning away of layer'd dreams like an Autumnal pyre as you stir me from reality and into a waking dream.

There is a spice in your words; exotic and acutely familiar. But strange. Like hand-me-down childhood wares.

You long for peculiar but fascinating things, evidenced by your nocturnal mutterings underbreath. Things I will never give you; things not of this world to give.

You smell of days and nights. Familiar now and still like distant memories I long to revisit. All at once a melange of your youth as mine, and sand, and oranges, and gin, and unscented wax pulled from hidden away drawers. An impossible viscera of vestigial emotion.

You question life in perpetuity. Even in your avowals there is an ever present ring of doubt and wont of resolve.

There are dragons in your eyes and lairs beneath, such secreted scales all gold and green. Your coffers aglow in the absence of light.

Your lobster trapp'd bottle of inside-out ardor and skinned-to-the-bone veil of delicate duress.

And you escape all reason.