NATURE'S FIRST GREEN IS GOLD, HER HARDEST HUE TO HOLD. HER EARLY LEAF'S A FLOWER; BUT ONLY SO AN HOUR. THEN LEAF SUBSIDES TO LEAF.
He has never felt so mortal, so on the precipice of the void. When the sun sets, there is a chill kept at bay only by Marisol’s presence; and that presence captivates him with all the gravity of a planet, of something larger than himself. While she struggles to look, he cannot look away; he cannot keep his breath from catching; in true mortal folly he cannot keep the naked emotion from his face when he truly looks at her. He is more a man now than he has ever been; he is more present, more flesh and blood, than any moment before now. And when the sun sets, his tattoo catch ablaze with the sentiment of his heart. He cannot help the warm, radiant light that pours from him; that illuminates them in soft golden light.
They are both trembling. In all of his loves, he had never learned the true nature of a storm: and he thinks this is it, he thinks this is what it must feel like to rest within the tempest’s eye.
She does not need to speak, he thinks. He sees the emotions and the way they break through her as waves do upon land; and perhaps that, that is their fate. Perhaps they are the sea and the land, opposites but Bound, breaking over the weight of their own connection. I did not understand the stories until now, she says. She presses her forehead into him; she says the words like a prayer. But her touch—and her affirmation—ignites something within him, something smouldering, something even greater. Orestes wants; he groans, low in his throat, “Then make me yours,” he asks, he pleads. He will not assume what she wants; he will not demand. No, he is asking, as one asks a goddess. His breath against her.
Orestes thinks of her emboldened; he remembers her as Commander; as Sovereign; fierce and soft, beneath. She, too, is a creature of dualities. His eyes are closed when he runs his mouth from her cheek to her shoulder, when he breaths in nothing but her scent. “Then write the rest of the story with me.” But it is Orestes who draws back; it is Orestes who trembles with all a mortal man’s desires. It is Orestes who says, "Do not be afraid, Marisol. If you touch me, I will not become dust. I will not change you.” It is a promise, more raw than the last.
“speaking" || @
"SO EDEN SANK TO GRIEF
SO DAWN GOES DOWN TO DAY
NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY"
SO DAWN GOES DOWN TO DAY
NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY"
