morning sunlight passing through her eyes phosphoresced green;
reminiscent of nighttime savanna felines in a nature video

to look beside the supernatural circles—with depth and texture—
was like struggling to see one million years of starlight: dim and distant

the night before, they were not glowing; instead colored as the line on a boat's hull:
showing where the water ends and sky begins

light, unobstructed by the winter morning, filters through the frost outside of her window
and blazes dime-sized yellow splotches on the walls of her bedroom

blond hair, with a much more natural radiance betrays its nocturnal pattern: 
her cheekbone remembered as soft waves and her passion as an unquenchable tangle

“it's cold in here” she announces, though she already knows that i have used her body 
as heat, comfort, security and inspiration for so many hours

my face folds upon itself as if a mammoth, invisible thumb were pressed
first onto my nose, then to my upper lip. My mouth was sour and i swallowed

i thanked her for stimulating conversation and an enchanting experience; -
then with the tearing of skin which had become so familiar and adhered, we detached and i retreated.