DEIMOS
Coming back together, instead of grating, instead of peeling apart, instead of rampaging through open wounds. Stitches and seams, healing measures, frayed emotions, mending, assuaging, soothing their way towards other pinnacles. Wanton and wanted, curling strands of something beyond – taking, snagging, at her offering, granting his own.
A change, a fire, a flame, as if plucking and dragging the sorrows away, draining the abysmal weights of their souls towards ethers. His devotion had always been there, stalwart, formidable, eternal, now stoked, kindled, on airs of vehemence, dedication rapaciously climbing to more, more, more. Now it wasn’t quiet, it wasn’t hushed, a growl in his throat, a rumble in his chest; kindled, roused, instigated, provoked, and tease, a flame given life. It snagged and inveigled in her grasp on his nape, the curl of his hair, igniting behind closed eyes and fervent heartbeats. Maybe there were contortions and coils of torment, anguish, and melancholy there too, as he pressed back, as his hunger contorted, as hands went to her face, pulled her to him: desperate to convey, desperate to show, desperate to no longer be devastated, lost, and hopeless. Mouth, lips, and tongue sought, tasted, consumed.
Mutual devouring, maneuvering forwards, backing her towards the edge of the empty bath, ready and eager to drown, to incite, a maelstrom of emotions colliding, conspiring, collecting until they were just figments of fractured connotations.
A change, a fire, a flame, as if plucking and dragging the sorrows away, draining the abysmal weights of their souls towards ethers. His devotion had always been there, stalwart, formidable, eternal, now stoked, kindled, on airs of vehemence, dedication rapaciously climbing to more, more, more. Now it wasn’t quiet, it wasn’t hushed, a growl in his throat, a rumble in his chest; kindled, roused, instigated, provoked, and tease, a flame given life. It snagged and inveigled in her grasp on his nape, the curl of his hair, igniting behind closed eyes and fervent heartbeats. Maybe there were contortions and coils of torment, anguish, and melancholy there too, as he pressed back, as his hunger contorted, as hands went to her face, pulled her to him: desperate to convey, desperate to show, desperate to no longer be devastated, lost, and hopeless. Mouth, lips, and tongue sought, tasted, consumed.
Mutual devouring, maneuvering forwards, backing her towards the edge of the empty bath, ready and eager to drown, to incite, a maelstrom of emotions colliding, conspiring, collecting until they were just figments of fractured connotations.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
