Novemeber Dusk

A man walks solitarily along 5th Ave. passing the Museum of Natural History; his bearing aimed at the rusted memory of this town.  The brisk fall wind ruffles his red and black lumber-jack flannel collar protruding slightly outside a grease stained olive colored canvas jacket.  Hands stuffed deep in faded, well worn light blue jeans he looks up to his left at the washed out 7 story brick apartment-esque building and continues on...

While you and I float atop my warm tannish down comforter.  Light fluffy rustic melodics meander out from the speakers cones enveloping our souls.  Outside the eye of my new college room, reds golds and more browns are fluttering waves obfuscating the museum behind.  Blink.  My hand carreses your blushed tender cheek.  Blink.  I feel your fingers run through my velvety locks.  We stare into one anothers eyes; this is the closest we will ever be, and I know it...Blink.

Descending down a narrow tree lined dirt path behind the university, dead leaves crunching underfoot he heads toward the clouds evanescently frothing out of a factory.  Nearby a bridge, it's 1970's sickly yellow paint scarred with dark cold iron veins forged by death; he stands beneath.  Staring out at the horizon, warm majestic red and golden hues fill his periphery.  A tear suddenly forms, wavering, then while convalescing in the corner of his eye, the sound of steel grinding enamel overtakes his soul.