DEIMOS
ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood
spit out the blood
In each brush of his fingers, he hoped some of his gratitude, acknowledgment, of her sacrifices, of her abilities, of her might, of her hope and life were instilled, rejuvenated, revitalized. Cherished components and compassionate blends, where affection rooted deep within and lived to tell another story, pressed into gradual lines of copper and crimson, watching as banshee ichor no longer took hold and instead, the rest of her fire chiseled through. She wouldn’t be able to see the smile encompassed along his lips, but it grew and unwound just the same, eyes tracing over silvern lines and fortitude. Something else to mull over, rather than grief, rather than anguish, rather than sink himself further below the surface – heres and nows and the presence of the present.
Even if her humor caused him to snort, for teeth to nip slightly at the curve of her ear. And though the temptation to splash water along where she lathered his leg came in its usual folly, he resisted the urge; simply ghosting a breath over her shoulder as he unwound another tangled thread, snagged at the shampoo bottle nearby.
The statement gave him pause too – brows furrowing slightly, rolling his shoulders to alleviate another residual ache. They hadn’t been a celebratory sort; wounded and tired and exhausted, each going their own way when the time came to disperse – the deeds done. Those air of calculations and machinations never quite left him, and so he unfurled another response made entirely in suspicion and experience. “I am not sure everything is entirely over. In all our years here, the Voice has always had something else up her sleeve.”
Not embarking further, because the certainty was made in furtive notions and the quiet of the bathroom, he tilted his head, aiming for other particulars, notions that weren’t quandaries. “I heard Cordelia and Noah were engaged before we left. May be a wedding soon.” Another prying for information – to see how the Shrike had faired in the war as well.
Even if her humor caused him to snort, for teeth to nip slightly at the curve of her ear. And though the temptation to splash water along where she lathered his leg came in its usual folly, he resisted the urge; simply ghosting a breath over her shoulder as he unwound another tangled thread, snagged at the shampoo bottle nearby.
The statement gave him pause too – brows furrowing slightly, rolling his shoulders to alleviate another residual ache. They hadn’t been a celebratory sort; wounded and tired and exhausted, each going their own way when the time came to disperse – the deeds done. Those air of calculations and machinations never quite left him, and so he unfurled another response made entirely in suspicion and experience. “I am not sure everything is entirely over. In all our years here, the Voice has always had something else up her sleeve.”
Not embarking further, because the certainty was made in furtive notions and the quiet of the bathroom, he tilted his head, aiming for other particulars, notions that weren’t quandaries. “I heard Cordelia and Noah were engaged before we left. May be a wedding soon.” Another prying for information – to see how the Shrike had faired in the war as well.
watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same
then let your soul do the same
