your hands are scarred from murder

SUNJATA

the flood

with every breath and every intake
tip toe further away

He buries himself into her, as close and as far as he can physically be, and he can feel the shift in her as she shudders and gasps, contracting against him as he shatters and breaks with her. He burns, holds her tight, hands reaching up to cup her face as he pants against her skin, keeping the two of them together just as she does him. And he envelops her, pressing soft kisses to her nose and her cheeks and finally to her lips with his own before he manages to somewhat catch his breath, riding out his wave and hers.

Reluctantly, he pulls away from her, slowly with a clench of his jaw, remaining in the span of her wings, however, to stay in that bubble she’s created for them. His hand reaches up to brush away her damp hair, to search her gaze with all the love in the world in it. “We could do this forever, you know.” He says quietly, words only for her with a soft smile all the same. He’d be content doing it forever, to be there in this position time and time again.

The angel to his devil, the light to his shadows – where both of them have splotches of it within, they’re opposites and yet the same. Two sides of the same coin, perhaps, mirror images of power hungry souls, of vengeance, of justice – of being something more than they are.

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