crevices of the universe — a door to nothingness — this ( im )mortal man is drawn
to an oblivion haze ( her resolution
, her mind , her soul ). a miasma of warmth, the atmosphere exudes
— an emitted flavour to be sampled by caelum’s mute tongue. shapeless
intentions portray leisure of approach, ankles variant in stride through
precipitation of ambiance. the cosmos sighs
in their union, enthralled by the
innate bond of prophecy — flaws
undiscovered, esteem reassured— yet contemptuous
of their infatuation. for how could a man
embrace the tension of a goddess’s burden? to kiss the wings of a monarch, you
will taint its nature of flight —
liberty confiscated as it may flutter
no longer ( you’re mine , please , never leave me ). a myth, of course, as
the powder of its anatomy is as resilient to the touch of creatures as it is to the aggression of rainfall. tiamate is not a butterfly, but a torrent to swamp the earth. and here she rests, in the discretion
of her king, the pleasure of their affair, and the prudence
of his hesitation.
“ darling , mine cold waters are quite adventurous — ”
such an involvement, this designation — as though a beckon of
the clouds, a commitment of the rivers.
her engagement, a spousal address of
‘ darling ’, proves causal to the highlight
of his features — a grin most affectionate in its
perception of her exposure. physical bareness, an ecstasy of flesh submerged in the glow of her opals, is
not what provides him her vulnerability.
it is the extension of her arm, an olive
branch from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, that outsmarts his
reluctance to court her. bite the apple, and you will be poisoned. a blissful
end. take
me to the ocean in sacrifice.
deliberate pace measures his venture, a dawdle
of posture now closing in on her divine, bathing physique. she has familiarized herself with the amenity of
his chamber, to draw her own waters even in the absence of the scourge’s
liberator. how long have you been here? a century, an afternoon ( with
your thoughts , your past , tell me the stories of our crooked minds
)? this radiating heat was not a luxury of any tap or faucet — it was humid
by her doing; a will of the seas, a taste
of her prowess. she could scorch as the infernian born from
darkness’s womb, and scald all within the water, or sooth
as the glacean — and preserve the chill of arctic depths. a window of her
emotion? to be discovered.
freedom of hand molds against her in nearness — exploring sculpted bosom and heavenly collarbone — his lips a sugar upon her ear and cheek. solace exposes them, a fondness
in purr; the world is but an
illusion, and they, a reality. draw across sentiment, evolve all weakness, and spread thy ribcage so he
may feast upon your heart. no
honesty, no lies, the essence will beat
amidst teeth and grant the curse of immortal sin. cannibalize the
stars, and perhaps he will achieve freedom of the daemons after his soul. a biblical
mistake.
“ you assume the waters are cold ,
my dear —— ? ( you must be joking ) ” what temperatures may harm a mortal, she would not bat an eyelash.
should he join her, he would bear a rash
of unwarranted tinge. the room is
far from ‘ cold ’, let alone the bath she occupies. “ aha … your
ability to withstand such potency of heat astounds me . if i were to join you
, i’m afraid i would not walk for
some time —— ” reminiscent of their first
night together, it was an affliction worth avoiding. though the experience
was that of an asteroid replacing one’s lungs, thrusting their desperation into the guidance of another’s, the might of the goddess had thrown ardyn’s
bearing astray. he had to avoid his
brother for what felt like a millennia, so as to elude his
noticing something was ‘ off ’ in the way he stepped.
“ —— i must decline this … hmn …
‘ adventure ’ , if i’m to savor the night . ” a confession; a truth. it is difficult to sleep ( to
heal ), when your body aches.
such is the opposite of her intention, a goddess new to man’s delicacy who continues to struggle in understanding
their bodies’ soft resilience. to be burned
by water requires curative measures he could
exhaust, but to be scarred by a star
— by the touch of eternity — he
would be staggered a fortnight, once more.
not this time, tia. he has learned.