DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Everything suits you echoed and bounded upon him, and as he glanced at her, uncertain, he found he didn’t have a response. He could’ve argued, made it all the more apparent where his faults, flaws, and defects lay, scorched and scathing along his bones, muscles, and flesh. He could’ve flickered apart from the seams, a barren wasteland, naught suiting him except dust, ash, and debris. Instead though, his eyes riveted, fixated, revered back to her, his Cheshire grin exuding, exhilarant at the way she watched him; he purposefully raked his stare over her too, an open encouragement and devilish predilection. He failed to deflect any of her indulgences either, pounced upon while he laughed, thunder and mountain, marble and slate, pressing along as stars sought to ignite his skin all over again. They glance upon his shoulder and caress the plains of his biceps, the flick of his wrist, and were she not swallowed and consumed by the towel and its dulcet threads, he would’ve bent down to take the heavens once more – drowning in its luminescent beams. That was all he could now – sun-kissed, savage, and entirely impish, absorbing the warmth, the guidance, the faith, the reverent, the reverie, and give it back, back, back, enfolding and encompassing them both in something real, something just, something fair and loving and ardent.
But once he’d been distracted by the mess on the floor, clothes included, he hadn’t noticed her meandering towards his room. It was as Spartan as the rest of his home and belongings, nothing quite noticeable or furtive; the only treasure nearby on his night stand, the ornamental whale she’d gifted to him – what felt like lifetimes ago. He’d yet to put it within a hilt; secretly appreciating the looks of it before each evening’s slumber.
At his alarm, she raced out of the confines; just enough time for his brows to shoot up at one of his shirts on her form; admiring long legs as they scampered back down the stairs. The beast didn’t even bother to push down the sensation of superior pride, acquisitive possession, or a sheen of satisfaction at her appearance in his garb, enabling a snicker to wander along his lips as he followed her down, still only the towel around his waist; the cry of laughter reverberating over panels of wood. “Can it be salvaged?” He chuckled from behind her, peeking over her shoulder. Then, abruptly, as if he’d suddenly remembered, his gaze caught the basket she’d hidden from him earlier – turning, twisting away, puttering silently on hushed movements and motions towards it.
Unite and spread the heart apart
