The golden hours of the morning met my eyes with favor.

Cherished and tender, the Sun kissed her skin in a swath of freckled light.  

I meet her gaze and she fades like waning of my magic.

In her absence, I stumble from then to now, tethered along by the wish of her reality.

She is ethereal, her between moments, unmoored by convention.

She is a freedom, I do no know.

She whispers her truths, words which wage war with profound ambition.

Dusk comes and I succumb, it is time.