I step to the edge of the canyon and look down. The fog is so thick it erases the landscape below, a sight that quickens my heart. My music player shuffles to a new song, guitars suddenly fast and ruthless in my ears.

They trigger scenes in my mind that I've tried, for these last few miles, to un-imagine.

We are parked in your car, somewhere high and remote. Your hands press into the armor of my ribs as I bend to taste your mouth.

The music drives us. It is one of the songs you have fed me, piece by piece, across the wires these past weeks. Each one offers a window into your inner world; each is a key. Do you know that the right one will open me wide?

Here are the long bones of your body; here are my curves of clay. Together we are an excavation of the senses, one I long to make real, even though my heart knows better.

I wonder whether the fog will veil our skin, whether we will shimmer still when it burns away. The music changes again and I descend, letting the clouds envelop me.