For S

Nothing is sacred unless we make it
so why not run with me naked
through these trees that aren’t
what they seem;
    to be
        or not to be
is not a question we need to answer,
not here, not when we’re together,
where benevolent light
    guides us through the forest
        & into the clearing…

If only you could see
just how
beautiful you are right now with
the wind twisting its fingers
through your hair
    & the air
        enfolding us
            turning golden…

Nothing is sacred,
but we give the void its colours
regardless*:
no meaning
beyond this nascent second
    unfurling;
        a flower
            in the sunlight
    reaching up
        in supplication
            to the sky.

* The Myth of Sisyphus – Albert Camus