Could either imagine
A flow of time
Without the other in the minutes?
No...
It seemed so obvious
In how a calm man
Steady in his temperaments
Could become no more than
An erratic heartbeat
At the simple suggestions
Of her communications
The way he read the words
Ravenously
Maybe thinking
His quick devouring of them
Would commit them to memory
The phone call
Tentative
As two pieces
Which didn't strictly
Fit together the same
Tried to find a way
By which to make
Something as beautiful
Like before
She missed him
There, a likewise sentiment
More to a point...
She missed them
That stolen tract of land
Their island
Where outside things
Mattered less than fading smoke
Into a starlit sky
All that mattered
The fire
Slow to kindling at first
Catching now
Through the exchange of
Long lost beats
Little nicknames returning
On the tides to
The shores of home
Each feeling sure
This was more right
More fitting
Because of her
With him being the reason
Somehow this
Felt like falling again
A dopamine trip
Talking long into the night again
Ignoring anything
Not of their island
-Lucius Black, “Their Island”