Your lip lines are the color of endless fire.
The harmonies in your throat are a prophecy, realized.
If a molecule of water is 1 part hydrogen, 2 parts oxygen:
is the flood of your tongue the breath of life?
Is the break of my body but the dust?
Is another stale creationist metaphor adequate enough to explain
how impossible you are to love improperly?
You exemplify the decompression of a stress-addled body.
A rythm of Joy in the calm of a reverential silence.
The sound of a broken heart healing itself, with support and encouragement:
piece by piece, strand by strand.
Biopsy my bones. You will find so many parts of yourself.
Biopsy my arms...and risk rending your back asunder.
Your love.....is a joyous noise, unfurling itself in the soil of a fallen city:
There is so little still left, living, here. But...
What beauty....What heaven...What unrepentant rapture....What light...
Do not love me back into existence, then make my limbs the lie.
Hold me, even when it's hard.
Hold me, in the dark. Your softened eyes, unblinking.
It may be.... the last chance we ever have.
YOU ARE READING
Sin & Savior
RomansaScarlett & Gianmarco are farther from traditional lovers than one galaxy is to the next. They are Travellers - Celestial beings of unimaginable power, thrust into a battle for the survival of their very universe they'd neither planned for, or intend...
