thedoorwaytodoubt
I want to dwell in the landscape of your thighs. I want your gasping breaths to linger in the air as my teeth cascade down over your skin from the tip top mountain of your chin down to the rolling hills of your toes. And I want to capture every conversation in your eyes; every plead, every demand, every desire. I want to taste the saltiness of the dew that collects on your body as we intermingle into the early morning hours, leaving night and its secrets behind us.
Most importantly, when the sun peaks its head over the horizon I want to dwell in the dream that is you and me.
I want to dwell in the landscape of your thighs. I want your gasping breaths to linger in the air as my teeth cascade down over your skin; from the tip top mountain of your chin down to the rolling hills of your toes. And I want to capture every conversation in your eyes; every plead, every demand, every desire. I want to taste the saltiness of the dew that collects on your body as we intermingle into the early morning hours, leaving night and its secrets behind us.
Most importantly, when the sun peaks its head over the horizon I want to dwell in the dream that is you and me.
The chalk forms creeks of white against the harsh black of the landscape; the monotonous voice nothing more than the bees buzzing.
Waves crash up violently against the ship's sides, the wood moans and wails its forfeit to the violent sea. Shouts are passed back and forth on the turbulent wind; some never make it, but plummet down into the ocean under the weight of the rain. The beast from below hugs the ship to its bosom, and down they sink.
Fire scorches the air, absorbing every trace of oxygen, leaving not a morsel behind. This does not hinder the steel as it lashes forward, bites into the succulent flesh of the overgrown lizard with wings. Somewhere in the distance, a damsel in distress raises her cry.
The buildings crumble and fall, rotting away under the chemical miasma. The two legged beasts clutch at their throats as they breathe it in, only to feel the very skin they hold in their hands melting away between the bones of their fingers. Before long, nothing exists but a sea of humans.
I look up, check the arthritic limbs of the clock on the wall. In my head, a million years have passed, a million lives changed; a million adventures had.
The creek of chalk keeps flowing and the bee keeps buzzing. Only a minute has passed.
A thick, dark blanket hangs heavy over the world; it sinks so close to the ground you imagine you could reach up and feel its softness against your fingertips. Like a window closed on a tiny room, the atmosphere becomes stagnant and stifling. The air we breathe now is nothing but indirect kisses; oxygen flows from your mouth into mine without our lips touching. Finally, the blanket fractures and the rain comes pouring down.