your hands are scarred from murder

SUNJATA

the flood

with every breath and every intake
tip toe further away

The touch causes him to vibrate, feathers flexing where his muscles twitch beneath her hands – and he continues, diving straight in for her, for the tender touches, the woman that was both tender and soft and a pale blizzard of her own. She could block him out by just her alone, a speck of black among the whiteout – prepared just as well to drown in the flakes that were both soft and cold, loving and adoring.

And he loves her for it, for the way she shifts with him, the way she looks at him, drinks him in, obliges him as she continues to run her hands through his feathers and his hair. Her lips brush over his stubbled jaw, his stubbled cheek, and he shudders with her as she repeats the words he’d said on the beach. His body trembles beneath the feeling of soft tender feathers as they envelop him in something far too pristine than he ever deserved.

Perhaps she’s more than he deserves, really. And that everyone had been right when they’d told her that he was a terrible choice. But all he can do is try to prove them wrong – the north of his compass pointed toward her, his beacon, his northern star. He burns with her as she gives into it, and he thrusts longer and deeper. “I love you too.” He whispers to her, the edge of a growl to his voice, lips aiming to capture hers fiercely and possessively, protectively, unable to continue much longer.

He breaks the kiss to bite beneath her ear, to mark her one last time as he drives himself deep into her and shatters, breaks within her, a groan loudly leaving him as he fills her. A tender kiss placed over the bite as he tries to ride out the waves of ecstasy that course through him, hoping it’s enough for her to shatter again too.

further away from this mistake
i'm no savior, i'm no saint