[PQ] [SE] Sing Down the Stars

D e i m o s

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass

With their acceptance, tolerance in his inability to muster much of anything musical, the comfort returned, and with it, some notion of devilry, settling into his bones along the intertwining ether, challenge and provocation, interred amidst those upheavals and revolutionary claims. Amalia’s gentle touch was enough to return him from any dismay or apprehension, leaning into her with a quick smirk, a whisper, “Lie, lie, lie”, before arching his brow and returning back to his drum, continuing the beat for her chords and refrains. Truth be told, he’d been wildly entertained by theirs more too, only because it’d come without rules, without painted meters and additional stanzas or sonnets, savage and seditious in its abilities and heresy, giving no purity, innocence, or virtue into lingering luxere. Perhaps they could continue the tradition in the ghosts of winter; forge more drunken songs out of delight and amusement. Amalia drawled, apparently not satisfied with his choice of instrument for her – the snicker still apparent on the lines of his mouth, but now he tilted his head, regarded her in the glimpses of fire and moonlight, postured his determination, oaths, and vows. “I always have faith in you,” he assured back, eyes narrowed, defiant shades of blue, ardor, and mischief. “If you do not want it,” and he mockingly went to swipe it away, one hand leaving his drum to unfold before her, daring again. “Then give it back.” But she didn’t, putting it to good use as her stanzas and lyrics extended, and there was a sense of consternation beneath the defiance that perhaps now the bar has been raised, and he wasn’t ready – sure enough, the game had been elevated. What more could he do than respond? The itch of provocation stirred against his senses, even as Jigano told him to start (pressure on; the rebellion spread), and he maneuvered his eyes away from Amalia and into the crackling fire, pondering how far to extend, what to say, a careful study, a brooding composition, palms back on the flat surface of his drum, resounding a feral, marching beat once more. He upped his rhyming game then and there, allowing the bits and bobs to float on his tongue, deep and feral. “They have faith and conviction, Into shades of light, shadow, and gray, Never swayed by restriction, Curiosity their main array.” For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate