Perfect Moment

"We're entering a new world. It's vast and it's exciting", you say to me, your shaded furls primed, hanging in painite prayer.

The breadth of your bones pleading, murmuring secrets with each rustling brush of reticence.

How this low light generously blankets fear and this tepid zephyr sighs away little torments of yesterday.

A quiet lake photograph of perfection that can only survive one swirling current—a flirtation of cool and heat together.

It stays forever in a stopped watch case but rolls dense down the extrinsic ravine—
"Why can't it always be warm like this?"