"your body, a drug for mine ; two bodies moving in
space and time "
We should get pillows like these, he thinks, distant. His head feels stuffed with cotton. Eros watches the way she spreads the cards before them, tries to follow the movements of her lips and tongue, but her words seem to evaporate the moment they leave her mouth. Her face is lined with age, with gravity, and he doesn’t dare ask her to repeat herself. It’s no use, all he can hear is the roaring fires and the dim pulse of music, anyway.
His perfume is cloying, thick as syrup on the air. He wonders then if Aion is dizzied, too. (Next time he’ll wear less, he tells himself.) It isn’t until she waves them from her tent he realizes how warm it had been inside. How stuffy. Goosebumps prick at his skin and a shiver tickles his spine as the breeze whispers in his ear “Congratulations”.
Or, perhaps more likely, his ears are playing tricks on him. Still, he looks back at Aion and asks—
@aion
