The sound of rain strums against their haven from the warmth of rest.
The soft purrs of a partner’s breath, stirred inside crevices upturned.
Silhouettes of couples’ remorse crept in, like a virus latched to its host.
Frozen in time, to the day a path turned divide
The air grew thicker, yet somehow familiar.
The familiarity of an embrace suddenly turned to a stone-like vice grip.
It wasn’t this soul, but the tone it presented.
Prickled skin of sporadic convulsions
The iceberg of problems
Its aura wavered between black and deep blue.
Fear hovered over them
Like the moth to the flame.
Bodies of mush solidified
To the capacity of cracks, scrapes, and ash.
Hid underneath the surface of the craftsman’s handy work.
From one creative to another
This pursuit is beyond reproach.
Nicole Johnson 
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