…this detrimental affair disengaged us in verbal confabulations. Perhaps I told you something I shouldn’t. Perhaps you were right to confront the shadow that follows the setting sun. Shadow; the living captive of the sun’s blinding back. Why do you suppose she follows the setting sun? Because she could not look away…look away… now that you have bid farewell as the golden evening, how else do you mean to cast your light and give shelter to this lowly captive shadow of the light? Certainly, you are not one to drag your chair and pretend you make no noise, are you? You got tired of the simple concoction one earnestly prepared for your mouth to taste; not for your eyes to see. You do not suppose the shadow to run around without a compass… you do not suppose this shadow to know your grief whilst in the dark… unless you let there be light. Why carry the burden of shutting your mouth; your light, instead of asking the shadow to rest under your spread of wings? Why do you assume to be the shadows’ spokesperson? Aren’t you the one with the strongest desire to see her around your collarbone? She’s not cold. She’s warmer than you thought— confounded by humidity and evening pursuits. Ask her and you will not be deprived of an answer. Make your colors known and you will not be held responsible. Why hide behind the breast of short moments when an entire blanket of a blackened body can bless you a wonderful night if you call? Although, you were right about the songster and, the soft whispers of love. ..the unbearable longing and the deepest of all passions.
Did I confuse myself one second once again? Perhaps…a course of action compelled me to commit to.
The sun is about to completely set and just, where are you catching my shadow? ….please…pretty please…catch it before it dances away your fingertips.