With his silhouette beaming with livid radiance before my preference, my orbs that held no life dilated. He was an angel - my angel. By then, my visage portrayed rose as air deserted my lungs. Lump in my throat as the angel treaded over our distance. Out of the voided orbs of his, the angel reached his hand towards my cheek and spread warmth on it, but the contact left shivers as it was taken back; and groan of protest nearly fell off from the tip of my tongue. The show of passion seemed subconscious due to how the figure jolted away from the friction: it felt like I was the kryptonite of the angel's existence: seeping his roots with foreign force that drains his all. But then, he heaved and gathered vigor, and its hand trekked towards its kryptonite for the second time.
Both of the curtains of my soul blocked my sight with my knuckles turning white - keeping the hatching chrysalis in my stomach. The familiar warmth grazed my face but this time, my soul was laced. Naught was taken away but my peace of mind, so I leaned to the warmth to follow the robbed serenity.
"Cute.", the angel spewed with complementary grin, which combusted the remains of my leash.
I snuggled while I thought about how this angel with no name that time would satiate my sweet tooth and lead me to the land I always fantasize.
YOU ARE READING
Holding on Phantoms
PoetryUnder the livid moon and stardust sky, I hold on my phantoms. My grasp is stout like my life depends on them, so I stand still and bare the zephyr ghosting on my skin. I let the icy touches send shrills of excitement as I bask in the heat of my phan...
