“AND DEEP IN OUR SECRET HEARTS
WE WORRIED THAT WE WERE AN ACCIDENT,”
WE WORRIED THAT WE WERE AN ACCIDENT,”
The cold of the night feels like the sun in the places where it pools shadow-thick between them. It feels golden and bloated with glittering brightness. It settles the wrath in her bones and holds together her fraying edges like gold-leaf spools of barbed-wire. Her delicate form feels full of comet fire and molten something – a thing even a torn out star does not have a name for.
And she tries to think of a name for it, this itch of her soul against the belly of her skin as it reaches from him like a spectral appendage she has no control over.
It eddies and whorls into the patterns of her forgotten dream. It etches itself into feathers and raven beaks full of teeth. It pricks her neck like thorns until she's bleeding silver, silver, silver in a memory black as the brightness behind her eyes when she blinks predator slow at him.
The heat of his muzzle, that almost touch, is a live-wire sparking her back into the soot and stone like she's only made of copper instead of stardust. Edges on her soul start to fray, and smolder, and whisper against the embers of a wildcat waiting to consume her. She can feel his flowers like kisses against her skin as she leans into both the bouquet and him.
Her edges tremble and hold.
“Yes.” She prays with a whispering echo of his red clay voice. She is star-shine to his bones-of-the-earth, moonlight to the mountain stone.
Pollen tickles at her nose like a a garden. She tucks it to his cheek as if she might give him a weak petal kiss to the bouquet of them he has given her. Warset feels like a thing made to know only the language rend and ruin, as she looks at the outside of him like a thing she does not know how to really reach. But she wants to, oh she wants to, when she settles her wing over his garden so that their hips might touch like stones wrapped in vines.
The sunset is an incandescent thing as they look towards it (and tries to turn her trembling to stone). Her eyes look up to the bruised sky that hasn't yet started to speckle with stars. “I do not know.” She whispers to the darkness creeping towards them like a pack of rabid hounds. White peppers the edges of her quick-silver eyes when she turns to look at him instead of the horizon, as if he might tether her to this coil. “Show me where I should go.” She sighs loud as a heartbeat. It feels like she's breaking apart as she takes that first step away from him, towards wherever it is she should be going.
And she hopes it's someplace with light enough to blind them. Because when her hooves echo on the moonstone pathway show me starts to sounds a little like save me..
@Dune
And she tries to think of a name for it, this itch of her soul against the belly of her skin as it reaches from him like a spectral appendage she has no control over.
It eddies and whorls into the patterns of her forgotten dream. It etches itself into feathers and raven beaks full of teeth. It pricks her neck like thorns until she's bleeding silver, silver, silver in a memory black as the brightness behind her eyes when she blinks predator slow at him.
The heat of his muzzle, that almost touch, is a live-wire sparking her back into the soot and stone like she's only made of copper instead of stardust. Edges on her soul start to fray, and smolder, and whisper against the embers of a wildcat waiting to consume her. She can feel his flowers like kisses against her skin as she leans into both the bouquet and him.
Her edges tremble and hold.
“Yes.” She prays with a whispering echo of his red clay voice. She is star-shine to his bones-of-the-earth, moonlight to the mountain stone.
Pollen tickles at her nose like a a garden. She tucks it to his cheek as if she might give him a weak petal kiss to the bouquet of them he has given her. Warset feels like a thing made to know only the language rend and ruin, as she looks at the outside of him like a thing she does not know how to really reach. But she wants to, oh she wants to, when she settles her wing over his garden so that their hips might touch like stones wrapped in vines.
The sunset is an incandescent thing as they look towards it (and tries to turn her trembling to stone). Her eyes look up to the bruised sky that hasn't yet started to speckle with stars. “I do not know.” She whispers to the darkness creeping towards them like a pack of rabid hounds. White peppers the edges of her quick-silver eyes when she turns to look at him instead of the horizon, as if he might tether her to this coil. “Show me where I should go.” She sighs loud as a heartbeat. It feels like she's breaking apart as she takes that first step away from him, towards wherever it is she should be going.
And she hopes it's someplace with light enough to blind them. Because when her hooves echo on the moonstone pathway show me starts to sounds a little like save me..
@
