Almost there. Almost face to face. Almost a word spoken. Almost. Radiant longing, burning from the inside, painting dark shadows across open nerve endings, extending far into the universe. Lined by the last glimpse of a late day’s sunlight, rays bathe in the falling drops as the curtain closes. That face drops, the scented body twists through the mind, fever races up toes and circles fingers, grazes shoulders and painted skin, maps contours unique to one only – a once home held by another human. Attention sinks and rises to match eyelids at their open and their close to reveal colors beyond, begging the yearning to stop. Or the pain begs, tired now.