Saturday, July 05, 2008

His feet wade through fine sand filled with broken sand and shells. His footsteps are heavy, from the sand, from internal gravities.

From everything else.

His skin is coated in sweat, oil, substances blown through the ocean's breath.

There are explosions in the sky, colors and specks and falling noises. Each flash lights up faces, features.

But with each deafening explosion, a single face becomes clearer.

And clearer.

And clearer.

And the fireworks in the sky match the fireworks in her eyes.

He shakes his head, hoping to stalemate framed portraits so inherent in colored outbursts.

But brain matter does not fall out of ears so easily.

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