Dusk

The sun moves slowly with the intent to leave, Slowly cradeling the mountains, the sun goes where its needed, Dark crawls upon my Crimson flesh, yet I feel nothing... The sun shall return to me, But I know it will leave as it did before, Oh, the raptures of yearning, Dos't encase my soul, Shadows climb the recesses of this yellow mass, Pulling there shroud over its beauty, Turning that magnificent fire, into the cool opaque surface, Of an irresdesant moon, Let us play within this cold fire, and Grasp everything we deem to be heat.