Their love was doomed from the very start. We knew how it would end, and yet, like hopeless romantics, we egged them on. In that mysterious time between dusk and dark their epic took shape. The sprightly moth danced in midair, like a Japanese danseuse, darting from here to there in quick, sharp but fluid movements. The flame roared, passionate and wild. Young love at twilight. We watched with bated breaths as they shared their first kiss; light and tingling, like sherbet melting on your tongue. And within a heartbeat we watched it turn to flames. The little creature fell to the cold floor, alone. Above the light continued to burn bright. We poured out the remaining wine; a splash of burgundy met the night sky.
February 23, 2009
A Twilight Affair