DEIMOS
the fire can't touch me
for I have burned too many times
for I have burned too many times
Hands in hands, questions for questions, no true answer curling out of the smoke and fumes. If the inquiry was meant to wound, he didn’t feel it – either understanding the notions of his inability for proper discourse (hidden, tucked away, away, away, no one permitted to see – in between cloaks and daggers and decayed elements), or that he’d failed in some other way. His recollections preside in the claws, in the wake of talons, in the ways he cannot measure up. Fingers coiled around, until they hit at rings, at promises and benedictions they’d made to one another, vows and assurances for the hours like these – the contentment so few and far between now. Worlds careening, colliding, blistering, and scathing; rapaciously intertwining down notches in spines.
“Yes,” he concluded, a hushed whisper to match hers, his head bowed over connections, before raising up, hoping to catch her eye, her gaze, more than cosmic entities. Willing to try, to offer, to understand the lacquer chipping, the wilted fragments underneath. He’d error somewhere along the way, the beating resonance of not enough, not enough, not enough stirring in his ribs, but stayed striving, fortitude and might because there wasn’t time to be anything else.
“Yes,” he concluded, a hushed whisper to match hers, his head bowed over connections, before raising up, hoping to catch her eye, her gaze, more than cosmic entities. Willing to try, to offer, to understand the lacquer chipping, the wilted fragments underneath. He’d error somewhere along the way, the beating resonance of not enough, not enough, not enough stirring in his ribs, but stayed striving, fortitude and might because there wasn’t time to be anything else.
the sea can't harm me
for I have been drowning all my life
for I have been drowning all my life
