The Red Shift

With time everything recedes
fading into the blended rosés and clarets
of a lifetime.
I have you written in intensity,
fingers pressed along the pulse
beating ferociously against the inevitably of
time’s ticking hands.
We tried to hide behind pleasantries
and a chorus of silence
to forget about the unseasonably hot weather,
or was it just me?
Anyway,
back then
everything was in fresh blues.
Approaching at the speed of light,
we would’ve never guessed how it might effect us,
we just woke everyday.
But slowly,
slowly but surely,
the warmth is ebbing from my fingertips --
you know, the extremities are the first to go --
and everything that was once in bloom
is frosting over,
and it’s harder to enjoy.