[ drunk ]
i found my precious again at 11pm of the dark hours, this time in an austere, lonely park. the red glow of his cigarette hovering his tempting mouth appeared like an evil eye piercing the thick dark veil of the night.
"Mr. poet, what are the odds? "
"the odds?"
"the odds of us meeting whenever I'm at my worst "
his eyes they looked like strong black coffee waiting to be sipped by another weary soul.
"the worst times are the best"
he moved closer to me on that rickety old bench
till his ragged breath reached my ears.
"please don't talk to me in riddles when i'm this drunk i hate it when I can't understand you "
"but we've talked not often"
"yes we have, twice this week. I even know your name"
his savoury words touched my heart again,
playing each string painfully slow with his slender yet strong fingertips.
"Clement "
oh sweet gods what is this thrill that unsettles my body? let him belong to me for-ever-more :
this seductive tyrant making my poor heart suffer like a broken winged lark let him be mine to hold,
my novelettish boy.
🌛
a/n : this marks the end of part alpha. next will be part beta.
thank you for reading :)
- hanabi 🐱
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Translucère
Krótkie Opowiadaniatranclucère [ latin ] | trans-lu-cre | » to shine through » // translucent // not completely clear or transparent but clear enough for light to pass through *happens when incandescent badboy meets hapless poet* poetry/not poetry which has turned in...
