Dusk came at seven.
It seemed a deep thing,
brazen gold fires burning
under scarlet heavens.

(I stood in wonder, starlit,
knowing you saw it too.)

We waited out the night,
constellations dimmer,
the cold of onset winter
siphoning their light.

(Our desperate breaths
pained for the morning.)

Daylight soon danced
over your face, aflame,
dawn leading the way
from our bitter past.

(You managed to survive
what seemed endless.)

But I still see dark skies,
and as much as I fight
to escape this midnight,
my sun just won’t rise.