Unlike them, don't walk away from my fear
I've busted bones, broken stones
He thought naught more of Adam – akin and alive to the serene distinction of satellite surfaces and rippling veneers, a cast of cool water shifting against his skin, the way the water always called, well before mountains ever had. For a moment he was breathless, intangible, taut strings of sinew resting in the tranquility, his mind not occupied by anything but the stars, lunar rays, basking in the glow of the moon, and her. Like midnight veils and strands, as if it were a world untouched by previous disasters and ruins, so utterly capable of moving forward and beyond, and his eyes were filled with it for an instant; coveting the quiet, the hushed layers of everything and nothing all at once. His shoulders were less burdened, his spine less rigid, his frame less braced – because the Shield was still alive, on the mend – and they were there, together, without everything else placed upon their vessels. It was a hallowed sort of mirage, and he’d take it for all it was worth.
The Sword could hear her purrs, her huffs, the slow curl of a grin forming on his mouth, until he plunged, until he recalled, remembered, the press of primordial nuances meandering along his bones, his marrow, his soul. Understandings broached and comprehension unwound, no need for further predilections and regard, when he had her here, when they were more than concaved, broken figures on edges of shorelines. I did; on the rummaging of promises and convictions, he’d give her a hundred, a thousand, and aim to keep them all. He turned away from the pale sheen across the expanse, a slow, winding movement and motion through the oasis, and perhaps he’d been sculpted from its expanse too, in the ways he’d been born beside tides and elements, fixtures of sieges and rapture. Time had gotten away, and prospered nowhere – last year’s instances for swimming scattered amongst tyrannies and rebellions, masses carving their insurrection into ribcages and stones.
Was now the best opportunity either? No – not when she couldn’t move her legs, not when she couldn’t kick her way through calm vestiges. However, it was only a limitation, only for a scattered trace of their story, one he tangled and webbed himself within. A reach for constellations, a search for stars, calloused hands embarking, leaning across the embankment, offering to carry, to anoint, to cherish, to hold, for as long as she would allow.
The Sword could hear her purrs, her huffs, the slow curl of a grin forming on his mouth, until he plunged, until he recalled, remembered, the press of primordial nuances meandering along his bones, his marrow, his soul. Understandings broached and comprehension unwound, no need for further predilections and regard, when he had her here, when they were more than concaved, broken figures on edges of shorelines. I did; on the rummaging of promises and convictions, he’d give her a hundred, a thousand, and aim to keep them all. He turned away from the pale sheen across the expanse, a slow, winding movement and motion through the oasis, and perhaps he’d been sculpted from its expanse too, in the ways he’d been born beside tides and elements, fixtures of sieges and rapture. Time had gotten away, and prospered nowhere – last year’s instances for swimming scattered amongst tyrannies and rebellions, masses carving their insurrection into ribcages and stones.
Was now the best opportunity either? No – not when she couldn’t move her legs, not when she couldn’t kick her way through calm vestiges. However, it was only a limitation, only for a scattered trace of their story, one he tangled and webbed himself within. A reach for constellations, a search for stars, calloused hands embarking, leaning across the embankment, offering to carry, to anoint, to cherish, to hold, for as long as she would allow.
looked the devil in the eye
I hope he's going to break these chains
DEIMOS
