m o i r a
the drunkenness of youth has passed like a fever,
like foam upon the sand
like foam upon the sand
S
hivers ache with the breathing of the island, the silence of the birds send skeletal hands stroking shaking ears that strain and strain and strain to hear every creaking branch and sighing leaf fall. Lazy, half moon, half sun, half demon eyes are falsely relaxed, tuning in to every moving shadow, every shifting thing. Swaying hips have made great men fall to their knees and foolish boys follow prettily behind in a train of nothing more than idiots and dreamers. She is seduction in red skin.
Wings ruffle as green lined with silver run along shoulders and feathers, cheeks and hips. Fruits dangle, teasingly, temptingly, sweetly down from branches high and bushes low. In the caress of night, some glow, some sing, some bring her nearer and nearer. Only the hiss of cat-tail in the periphery pulls her away. Stops a mistake before it happens. Reminds her of her reason for being here.
It matters little what prying eyes watch, they’ll find a sight. They’ll find soft lips curled in a languid smile, curving cheeks grinning below half-moon eyes. There is no resignation, no damnation, only determination.
Not even Caligo can stop her now.
Night holds her breath when Moira takes another step, when her shadow that is not a shadow echoes it so closely, when trees crawl out of the way to bring her near a small, gurgling pool that shines with black pearls and strange fish. Blinking, they stare and she stares and eternity passes between them all.
Perhaps, the phoenix considers, this island is the most alive thing she’s ever known.
@ | "speaks" | notes: & way down we go
