Alternative of 15-2-2, because I am debating over one word.

We sat together, our legs in the water. Ocassionally, our toes brushed as we padlled our feet. I felt your palm on the small of my back. The red sun was sinking. "It looks like fireworks", you said. I splashed.

Tonight, I see you from the porch: Eyes glowering in the moonlight. Your body sinks into shadows. The fire is warm. He bends over to add a log; I spot a rip in his overalls. Inside, the memory of your pupils is sprinkled over my eggs in bitter, tiny black grains, like peppers. "The food's good tonight", he says. I nod. I think of our legs dangling in the water: Later, our bodies sank into the waves, and I wondered how a downward motion could feel so much like flying.

Now, climbing the stairs, I wonder how an ascension can feel so much like going down. I sense the atoms of my body floating towards your ashes, picture your toes sinking into brown ground. Has the fire gone out downstairs? He takes off his overalls. "It's like fireworks", he says, and I feel his toes brushing mine. I paddle through white waves of cotton, my hand on the small of his back.

Why do your eyes keep glowering?