He traced the lines of her skin with his lips, caressing the crevices of her,
lingering on the concaves and convexes of the shape of her.
He dipped into the colors of her soul, using it to color the monochromatic world they were in - showing the world the beauty she tries so hard to hide, beauty she denies to have.
He begs to disagree.
Her nails paint angry red lines in the expanse of his back, her lips peppering his body with traces of her.
Her hands draw out the pureness of him - proving again and again how even when he is allowed to use her, he still refuses to.
She splatters the black night with the purity of his heart.
Every night their hands and bodies dance in a well choreographed song of moans and grunts, and loud screams and soft whispers.
Every night they paint the silence with thrusts and glides, with ins and outs.
Every morning they wake up like an artwork - a beautiful mess of tangled limbs and lazy smiles with their sheets as the canvass.
A/N:
What took me so long to get this up is the prompt. I really CANNOT think of how to write it.
Is this passable?
