DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Renewal and resurgence, not in vengeance, not in blood or chaos, not in mayhem or malice, but their own course of wickedness, settling in amongst hearts and souls, brandished without weapons, without steel, without iron. They were games and orchestrations for them to whittle upon when things threatened to become too deep, too true, too real, when faced with emotions and sentiments otherwise unexpressed. It was joviality, light and fragmented, to ease away notions – afraid, nervous, apprehensive in some aspects of exploration, and entirely too keen and bold in other sojourns. But he’d laid out a challenge, blunt and keen, an impassioned, committed expression when so much more seemed capable of slipping away, the outside world an uncertainty, but the one within these walls, these figures, these individuals, a more vivid capture of what he chased, of what he yearned, of what he craved. The play and nature seemed to be the same though; shaking heads in disbelief, disconcerted, misunderstanding the layers and lacquer that others had noticed, that others had seen, that others had hankered and hungered for. Her cheeks blushed and the rosy hue indicated too many semblances of the same kind – that they were silly and foolish and blind.Instead of maneuvering his own head in doubt, he stared at her, something akin to wonder and perplexities courted in his stare. Constancy he could understand – because that was who’d he been from the very beginning, a composed figure on the summit, on the cliffs, on the water’s edge, determined and committed, no matter what task he would undoubtedly have to face. He didn’t veer off amidst incorporeal directions. He didn’t slide into mercurial semblances. He stayed the course.
Humor on the other hand, did cause him to laugh. No one would have ever accused him of having great depth to his amusements.
Taking care of others had never been something he’d thought of either – automatic, instinctual, inherent, forged somewhere between soldier, warrior, knight, general, and King; a camaraderie he wouldn’t have shared if still left in his detached, isolated ventures, if he still brooded and brewed, if he still claimed nonchalance in the vehemence of war. It was an expectation on the battlefield, to look after his brethren, his kin, his allies, as he ran and seethed, as he tore worlds apart.
Her inquiry causes the laughter on his lips to balk, soothing it back into its Cheshire state, eyes lifting to the ceiling, as if mulling over the contortions with great pain and stagnation. “When did I know…” he uttered, trailing off, pretending he was stalling for time, for infinite moments to think back. Except he already knew, had already understood all those points, all those instances, all those raw, real intervals where he glanced at her differently, where she was something and someone other than another person in the background, another figure he strived to avoid, another inhabitant of a world he didn’t understand. His stare was vivid and sharp on her again within a breath. “I think it was the pumpkin scones,” a tease, a measure to prolong the game, and then the truth, spiraling and curling, coiling in earnest, in warmth, in everything that laid between. “When we sang,” the warrior started, the list continuing, bright, luminescent, when so much had been cloudy and dark. When you died didn’t come into the void; the way his heart had raced and pulsed and he’d be convinced he’d be burying someone else. “When we destroyed your bakery,” intoned with a chuckle, deep and ricocheting off the basin’s design. Then he leaned closer, a veracious approach. “When you accepted me. When you did not leave me on my own.” When you did not leave me to sputter around in anguish, in melancholy, in the ashes and embers that I thought to burn within. Maybe that was enough. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he'd have to give her more and more and more; show rather than say.
But then she maneuvered back into his embrace, and he was lost again, turning on lines of instinct and affection; surrounded by her limbs once more, comfortable and rapacious. He loosened a few rumbles as her hands wound their way into his hair, the mane besieged with shampoo, lathered, devotion on all counts – he permitted it, obeyed it, and dove into his own devoutness, hands keeping her in place, strong and stalwart, while his teeth, tongue, and lips savored their slow descent along her neck and down to her collarbone.
Unite and spread the heart apart
