Cliffhanger

The sun comes down,

Like butter melting over a globe-shaped roll.

She and I eat sandwiches on a high

cliff.

Both of us laugh

At the thought of

Fall

ing.

She lounges back,

props up on my chest,

and sighs.

The sun props itself upon the earth’s chest,

and sighs too.

We stay there gazing into the distance, over lumped valleys:

Silent.

Covering our legs with a lumpy afghan,

We watch the sun slide beneath the earth’s duvet.

Beautiful.

Toasting the first glass of moonlit white wine,

we curl up together, and laugh at ourselves:

fa

lli

n

g.