We stand at the edge of the continent, waiting now for Death to arrive from across the Pacific. Ironic, that name — Pacific.
We haven’t spoken to each other all day. What’s there to say? In the end, we destroyed it all.
We can only cling to each other and wait.
.. reminiscent of ‘On The Beach’ - Neville Shute Norway !
The tide turns to times tossed aside like leaves once gathered ; then in a pile we lit a match and watched smoke curls climbing to touch the sky, a puff of breeze is all it took to ignite our leaves to burn with glorious glow in the stillness of afternoon. When the ashes were left smoke scent remains on clothes that we changed together inside with tender touch of eyes no longer lashing at last moments lust.