Gone in ninety seconds.

It was the first night of spring.
The moon a scythe, all but ready to end winter's dominion over the lands.
The sky was clear and daybreak on a rapid approach.

He swaggered into the tavern, eyes burning. She found his gaze, met, and held it.
Polarity drew them in. During the four seconds needed to close the physical gap,
their pupils parlayed in silence. Everything and nothing was said and agreed upon.

"Hello", he spoke. "I am the sun". "And I the moon", she beamed back.
She offered in earnest a smile and her hand, both of which he eagerly accepted.
Drums oscillated, and reminded them of their earliest beginnings.

She spun around, waxed and waned her hips to the insistence of the rumbling.
His hands clutched at the tides, and together they flowed.
Her moist palm found his calloused grasp, and hid inside, happily.
She turned once more, caressed his cheek.
Her eyes told him stories yet to come.
He smiled, eyes still burning.

Suddenly, a neighboring moon whisked her away.
"I have to leave", she said.
"Don't forget", she urged him, "I am the moon".

It is always darkest, right before dawn.