Venerability

She sits waiting,
Her venerable heart placed strategically on her tattered sleeve inched towards his chest.
His head; Her shoulder.
Let his fingers run through her hair.
Hands clasp together as if they could never be pried of their puzzle shaped grip.
A fit so perfect not only seeps of water could drizzle down and leak into the locked crevasses to separate their hands. But something does, and as each acidic flesh removing teardrop falls she wonders if he ever feels as if it's just
one second too late
to turn back.