DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
He leaned into her, always, always, always, like a siren, like a beacon, like a signal fire, the way his eyes chased after hers, the way he searched for her across a crowded room, the way they beckoned and clawed their way back to one another time and time again. Alone, the behemoth was just a behemoth, monster, monolith, the Reaper, a callous, cold figure awaiting the next moment of sin and iniquity, lingering in the drowning stead of his failures, of his disasters. With her, he was more, so much more, because he strived to be something, someone, deserving of her affection, her embrace, her love; changing, altering, under her ministrations. The world wasn’t always death. It wasn’t desecration. Sometimes it really was adoration and love, and he took and he gave what he could. The laughter presided over him; far greater than the outcries of a battlefield, the monumental breakdown and collapse of an army, the thundering shame of defeat. He’d chase down the sounds she made at any interval, at any moment, drowning the world in the length of their singsong interludes and pieces, compositions, of repose. They sounded better than demolition, than desecration, than abhorrence and contempt; melodies of serenity and tranquility, even when brought forth by the most ridiculous of antics. Her assault wasn’t unexpected, but he reeled away from the splashes just the same, turning his cheek away from the siege of water, then shaking his head like a burly dog, allowing any other cascading droplets to descend in her direction. His hands are larger, and one drops into the basin with a great relish, insinuating a tidal wave as it maneuvered below the surface, streaking for her figure.
Then she pulled apart, her eyes on him and he expected some further mischief, an unleashing, but her fingers slipped into his mane again, catching over tangles and tresses, and he watched, mildly suspicious. Her words, however, were wholly unexpected – never anything he’d heard directed at him his entire life. His eyes widened in surprise before he could relegate and render them into deepening fathoms – and the blush across his cheeks was an indication of his surprise, bewilderment, and bemusement. He attempted to soften the premise, the compliments, with some disparaging comment, not used to accolades, to commendations, acclaim, or any form of flattery. “I knew you were only with me for my looks,” he sighed, a wistful, put-upon pretense, stare chasing down the mischief, the ruse, settling his gaze back along her face – a calm, boyish smile managing to meander its way along his mouth, blue depths admiring her too.
Unite and spread the heart apart
