It brightens and it peers,
as the heavens color my vision
purple then pitch black.
How quickly can the night shift in seconds?

Troubled by phantom dissent,
twin hearts linger at the footfalls
of imagined nightmares--
pleading for a reprieve, adrift in surrender.

Fear seizes the sharpest wit,
the bluntest tongue, and the weakest link;
it strikes while chaos is burning,
clinging at the absurd

yet

Like the sun inching towards the horizon,
steadily approaching,
something that makes flowers bloom on barren land
persists and prevails

Rising over shared temperament,
a silent plea--spoken through untold promises,
and furtive gazes,
traverses any trifling discord:

"I want to hold your hand."

I want to hold your hand,
until my bones are brittle to a crack,
and gravity is displaced
from the Earth, to you.