DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
His eyes lingered on the sea, on the rush of nostalgia eternally biting at his memories, of days in youth with gangly limbs and outstretched arms, intent on capturing the surf in his grasp, in his wake. Instead, he found war, desolation, and mountains; second lives to relive the trauma, the loss, the acrimony, and then here. So he breathed in amongst the wind, took and stoked fondness for its highlights of distinction, no moonlit wares present, but pieces, shards, formations of what could’ve been yesteryears.
But there were challenges immersed along ocean curves and currents, and so his recollections faded for new ones, piercing gaze riveting back to gilded tassels and onyx eyes, on radiance and reverence, on challenges and goading. A soft smirk found its way along his mouth, hands busy tying up long locks of hair, his body wandering towards the rush of water. Nothing more required: a silent coaxing, an enticement, inveigling, in something that felt like lifetimes ago. “I did.” She likely didn’t need it now – not with dolphin or otter skin, attributed skills inherent, embedded, infused into animal movements and understandings. But promises, oaths, and assurances had always been a part of him, and he wasn’t about to let a vow, a conviction, flicker off into the void. Especially not to her.
He strode along the sand as if he had been attuned to its dunes, a part of its reaches from the very beginning, removing his shoes, his socks, and placing them along the rocks nearby. A very ruffian assembled grin was tossed her way, before stripping down entirely, lifted hems and falling waistbands, the merest undulation of the chill coursing down his skin, flesh, and spine. Then he was within the depths, along shallows, threading his way within the tide, turning back, waiting.
But there were challenges immersed along ocean curves and currents, and so his recollections faded for new ones, piercing gaze riveting back to gilded tassels and onyx eyes, on radiance and reverence, on challenges and goading. A soft smirk found its way along his mouth, hands busy tying up long locks of hair, his body wandering towards the rush of water. Nothing more required: a silent coaxing, an enticement, inveigling, in something that felt like lifetimes ago. “I did.” She likely didn’t need it now – not with dolphin or otter skin, attributed skills inherent, embedded, infused into animal movements and understandings. But promises, oaths, and assurances had always been a part of him, and he wasn’t about to let a vow, a conviction, flicker off into the void. Especially not to her.
He strode along the sand as if he had been attuned to its dunes, a part of its reaches from the very beginning, removing his shoes, his socks, and placing them along the rocks nearby. A very ruffian assembled grin was tossed her way, before stripping down entirely, lifted hems and falling waistbands, the merest undulation of the chill coursing down his skin, flesh, and spine. Then he was within the depths, along shallows, threading his way within the tide, turning back, waiting.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
