DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
His eyes didn’t leave hers, riveted and immersed, content in the piercing onyx shades, in the life of cosmos and galaxies, in the command of her attention solely on him. He orchestrated the same, nothing and no one else in his gaze, save for her, absorbed and attentive, step for step, chase for chase. The beast waited for her to flee, for limbs to spring, for motives to catch, for amusements to beckon, court, and bellow in the seams and strands of their favored upheavals. Mischief and devilish accord, ensconced in the brief, hungry, avaricious movements, juvenile sedition unfurling along his mouth.
However, he didn’t expect the hunt to end so abruptly. Where he’d intended to stalk and preside, pursue and trail, rush and follow, to let her know she was sought with every breath he took; she collided into the makeshift wall. There were opportunities to escape and evade, to the air and skies, to opposing sides, to continue in the cycle of their ridiculousness – but she merely stood, defined by the earthen creations. He arched a brow in confusion, plans drifting on a different course now, shifting and turning, until an abrupt snort echoed and rumbled, shaking his head.
Then, since they’d already reached the conclusion, he extended his hand, an offering towards her. “Dance?” Tradition; the stoking of beginnings, earnest delights and recalled misconducts between crowds. “Though we do not have anyone to run into.” A shrug, as if this made the shenanigans less sporting. “Perhaps we can think of another point system.”
However, he didn’t expect the hunt to end so abruptly. Where he’d intended to stalk and preside, pursue and trail, rush and follow, to let her know she was sought with every breath he took; she collided into the makeshift wall. There were opportunities to escape and evade, to the air and skies, to opposing sides, to continue in the cycle of their ridiculousness – but she merely stood, defined by the earthen creations. He arched a brow in confusion, plans drifting on a different course now, shifting and turning, until an abrupt snort echoed and rumbled, shaking his head.
Then, since they’d already reached the conclusion, he extended his hand, an offering towards her. “Dance?” Tradition; the stoking of beginnings, earnest delights and recalled misconducts between crowds. “Though we do not have anyone to run into.” A shrug, as if this made the shenanigans less sporting. “Perhaps we can think of another point system.”
I belong to you
the way the moon belongs to the stars
the way the moon belongs to the stars
