i want the rain that makes you wet
beneath the waning moon, the forest sings with violence. with sharp sleets of rainwater, and the deep gloaming of trees. songs of armageddon. songs of the storm. the pounding lullaby of rain. the harsh cries of thunder. all shattering summer's gentle reprieve, with the stormy violence of its kiss. how long ago had she heard such music? how long ago had she danced in the rain? tasting the raw midnight air, and devouring storms, with each breath of feral wanting? to feel the ravenous breeze weave like fingertips through her hair? or to taste sweet moonlight, as it runs with hot desire and wild abandon upon her flesh?
for so long has she loved the moon. for so long has she loved the forest. she so coveted the storms, as well. the storms that lit the forest floor in a brazen dance of thunder. the beautiful dissonance of its electrifying form. o, she devours it all up. the lights. the sounds. the taste. the smell. the pitter-patter of wet soil. curling moist and heavy against the pungently-damp air. the ambiance of the storm. the deep, wracking shivers of molten white. that flashes across the woods, in violent spells of silver. the pounding bullets of rain. the feral breath, that pools into arctic mists. descending his lips, like smoke spilled from a cigarette. the silhouette of his form. ever deadly. a hungering blade. all of it weaves like silver madness. like a primal predator unfurling great talons before the blood-red fire of her gaze.
into a delicate smirk, her lips curves. her fangs bared into a playful smile. she feels the rain dancing sharply upon her skin, and she sighs with a feral hiss; somewhere between a growl and a righteous purr of wildcat thrill. she should feel wary. and yet, curiosity unfurls like a serpent within her. slithering, coldly. coyly. her voice, floats to reach him. curling like blue fingertips through the air. her azure trails about her form. dancing beneath the feral curves of her; now drenched in misty rain. she should feel leery beneath the frigid stare of this predator. should be cautious of strangers painted in death's design, glowing beneath a cannibal moon.
yet she is fearless; perhaps, even wickedly playful. the lupine fur of her tail lashing the curve of her hips; waving thru and fro. swaying with all the daring hunger of a she-wolf. he beckons to her, and she follows. waltzing, towards him in a SHASHAY of visceral red curves. who is he? this man dripping of silver soot, painted in the acid-white of ocean's carnage. how sharp his fangs. how perfectly sculpted his horn. every edge of him, laced in killing elegance; she wonders then, if the gods crafted him with a leopard seal in mind. a wolf of the sea. an orca. a predator. a killer. he reminds her of someone she knows; someone that sings of gold, instead of silver.
she draws nearer. she stands close enough to hear his breathing. close enough to taste the would-be-ocean upon his breath. close enough to touch, but touch she doesn't; content to let their breathing, mingle hotly into the darkness. content to watch from beneath the languid sigh of his shadow's caress.
i want everywhere that you've been
