The moon turned its face: she had business elsewhere to attend. Tom and the female (who had lost her name, somehow, skittering away due to growing, hypnotic incalescence. This heat cheated the first frost of its glory: no one noticed how cold gripped the vines, the clarity of bone fractured under the heart.
There is more to say, more to confess. The pause, the gulp, when one swallows the truth, turns away, pretending.