You the evening time dipped my head in gold. The sight of that night put my pulse on hold. The storm tore the honey onyx sky open, leaving only tremulous slices of sunset. The shadow of the underpress beckoned, offering a cavernous embrace. Moths sprinkled the darkness, fluttering up to devour artificial light. I was still fighting the summer, resisting the raw magnetism in the air. But the season forged me, beat me down into my outline harden. When I left, the wind wept for me