Walking along a narrow ledge

your warmth was sharp and faded quickly

like the warmth on the tips of your fingers

fishing for the tea bag tag fallen into the mug

the place we went was like that theory where

time doesn't exist as we know it

the past the future occurring presently

and we were the only ones there

I walk home balancing on a narrow ledge

instead of the footpath beside it

a dimmed sensation of scorched fingertips

the warmth dissipating

for the time being caffeinated

and no longer thirsty