Skinny love

There you stand – a vertical line against the horizontal sunset.
Darkened by the light from behind, I see you.
The beach… it always suited you.
Gasoline spreads along your elongated shadow licking my toes.
Flicking a light between my fingers, I watch.
I watch as the sun inches down south – your head, then shoulders, then the entire torso.
One by one parts of you disappear into the night, and I stand. Still.
As the night blankets my vision I light the light in my hand.
The distance, this distance, it always suited us so.
Minutes united, hours departed, months in line.
Cigarette it burns: between my fingers, lips, inside my throat, lungs.
Still standing still watching flicking the light on and off.
The sun hanging its head down low, nothing left but your feet now.
Wind carries murmurs whispered in vain.
Throwing the dead cigarette into the wet ground, I flick the light back on.
A blink then two. Then a few more.
Taking a step back, I drop the light.
Instantaneous light. Burning. Heat.
A few steps further backward, I see you.
Your shadow dances with the flames.
Flashbacks.
I feel the heat, the fire, the burn on my toes: the place where you touched me, the place you left.
A laughter bursts into the dark.
Not knowing who it belongs to, we dance into the nothingness.
Shattering tears into intangible happiness – we burn.