DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
She’d said it to him before (I think I’m in love with you), and he’d never forgotten it, utterly stunned because it hadn’t been a notion, a sentiment, extended towards him often (ever?) – not understanding what she saw in him. Amalia had made it remarkably clear over the evening’s dynamics, trust and devotion, stalwart commitment and fortitude, more, more, and more he could likely refute, self-deprecation alive and incensed in his chest. But sometimes it was enough to believe in, for a moment, for an instant, that he was just as she’d described – better than the decadent roots and seditious efforts, better than the sum of all his ghosts and wraiths. His eyes closed, not succumbing to slumber just yet, mouth near her crown, her halo, breathing her in, soaking in the essence of her light while he could. It was almost a waiting game; perhaps she didn’t hear him, perhaps she didn’t care, perhaps she already regretted the things she’d uttered before.
Then it reigned across intervals, emboldened and bright, out into the ether, over the rush of his heart, a tattoo, an anthem. Love you too; and he wore it along his skull, so it could press and coax along his dreams, so there were other things to dwell upon besides doldrums and iniquities (contentment, satisfaction, ardor, love, love, love). His lips pressed against her hair, a chuckle smothered by gold and the crinkle of his smile, before sleep finally wove its way behind his eyes.
Unite and spread the heart apart
