The Sweet Exhalation

Her sweet exhalation blew its way into the wind. It fused with the whispers of the cold, leaving imprinted frost upon her lips; melting where the blood boiled the skin. The roughness of her fingertips grated against the bark, tearing strips away with the appearance of one undressing a lover. With tentative strokes, she pulled the lichen from the trunk, revealing lighter patches where preservation had occurred. It troubled her to think of his body, wrapped tight in the husk of god, presiding under earth and stones never to be brushed by sight.

If she squeezed the darkness of her eyes together, she could make out the shaded  picture of his face, a prominent jawline scraping against the walls of her memories. He had always held her hand through the fire, taking the place of the flames. But instead of biting, he caressed her. He would wait until the heat burnt an imprint of her into his eyes, so that even after closing there she would be; an angel within flesh. He'd faded with the golden murmurs, the crackled tongues, the sweetened kiss, until no more did he stand behind her, but rather above. His reaching down to her was hidden within the movements of the clouds, it was wrapped within the falling of leaves. He sang to her with the voices of the birds and let their chorus infiltrate the moon. Sleepless nights plagued her dreams, for his absence cooled the sheets and froze the smile from her face, melting through the skin as ice does upon wood. By walking through the willow tree, she entered solitude; a mask for autumn's probing glare.

The hours had lengthened since he left, swallowing minutes and drinking time. The appetite of those who are gone diminishes, leaving behind a trail of guilty pleasures, such as walking through the rain near your childhood house, or singing words that make no sense to the ear. Listening to the brushing of the leaves, their whispers licked the wind and floated through her thoughts with the fluidity of scented waters. Her throat shared the roses hue and often bled with the bitterness of his parting, only pausing to choke upon the jagged edge of speech. Removing her hand from the bark, she muffled it deep within her pocket as if to stop her fingers breathing. Closing her eyes, a slither of silver broke its way through the barriers of self control and made its way towards her chin. As it fell to splash upon the grass, she smelt the freshness of his skin and pretended he was with her, for one last time.