I see earth as she turns. A slow ballerina, pirouetting on an invisible leg. Green shapes paint her face. They disperse across the waters. I watch her everyday. I watch all the planets in their lifeless synchronised symphony, but I watch her the most. I watch as she balters across the nothingness in an effortless tumble. Your home.
I can see everything from here, everywhere my fingers touch. The sand at the shallows of the sea. The spots of dirt hidden beneath the filigree of forest branches. I can feel the grooves of your skin. I can kiss your shoulders, your back, your neck. I leave marks to remind you I’ve been there.
Right now you stand on the edge of the world. Bent crooked over a railing. A paper crane. You look down at the expanse beneath you; you’re so high you can’t see the ground. I see your blood pulse quicker at your throat. You smile.
Out over the miles of city before you, you trace the dimming skyline with your eyes. You watch me butter the concrete, watch me drench it in blushing orange light. The windows glimmer. The city sighs. People pull on cardigans and take the sunglasses from their heads. They finish the last of their beers and stub out their cigarettes. I begin to close the day on this city.
You remain poised, your face turned towards me. You lean over the edge of the world. You see the city reclining in the last of my heat.
I am a dot in the sky. A symbol of passion. A symbol of rage. I am bubbling on your horizon. Your eyes reflect it back to me. Ardent, unapologetic.
My touch is a sanguine smile across your nose. The last I see before another city calls.
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