I would have lied if I said we were a bed of roses. It seemed too much like we were only a bouquet of flowers. I did not tire of watching sun rays bask on our skins. But I have been losing count of sunsets and you have been losing hue. There was never a 'too late to part' and I dread for the sun to rise. You were never a rose with thorns. And there was no beauty in the world; as in a definition. Perhaps you were aware. Your touch on my skin is cold and fear is a monster; you either tame it, or be subdued. If we weren't merely numbers of the yesteryears, I do not understand why these meadows remind me of a barren field.

Every time
you unleash your monster
I do as well.

[for Joe Cole's prompt]*
~~~

Grain of sand?
I have no remembrance
of me being a grain of sand.

All I can tell you about
is this me you can see:

this glassy transparence,
a melted me,
metamorphosed
by fire.

Seemless frontier,
I can't but to split
daring to reach
the other side.

Grief, from this
sandy longing?

Yes, you may
say that's me.

In about half an hour I'm heading out of here so the challenge is being posted early and response by Saturday please

Quite simple this time

The story of you