Before the lights go out.

The dim light flickers and gently clanks like the withered hands of a grandfather clock.

She, who sits sunken into the soft arms of an ivy green chair, becomes bright and dark over and over with the rhythm of the light.

Tell me, what lingers on the tip of your tongue and what lurks in the depths of your mind.

I will listen to your smooth words and feel the vowels seep into my skin, flesh and bone.

A conversation with you is a warm bath, a spoonful of sugar. Sweet laughter and soft glances.

Tell me more, before the lights go out.