Post by Aurora on Jan 6, 2021 22:42:19 GMT
AND HE IS SCORCHING
THE SKIN OF MY HEART
THE SKIN OF MY HEART
Winter lives here. With sharp teeth, his ivory hunger, envelopes the earth. Winter descends; a great, white dragon spilling mist and snow from the North. He draws his great claws across the ground. He drags his icy nails across mountain, sea and sky. A fervent kiss. A fervent hush. The wicked whisper before the spectral scream.
O, how winter comes with ragged wanting, and pale breath. A pallid reaper. A malevolent siren. Licking death from his lips, and singing violent songs over restless, charon seas. Watch as he descends amongst the living -- not like a silent thief in the night, but a howling beast, swimming towards Hell. Loosened, for the consumption. The kill. It is very cold, glacial. Talon feels winter deep in his bones. Talon feels death.
And so, when December's wrath dawns its icy breath like a cruel kiss across his form, he will feel its frigid bite, too. The December-kiss, bids him to wake from his eternal slumber. Its ivory kiss, smoothes along his brow, his temple, his folded ears, and Talon stirs beneath the snow with a savage reckoning. Beneath its cold, cruel kiss he awakens. Rousing, from his deep sleep, a wild dragon ready to strike. Talon finally opens his eyes and greedily drinks in the world around him.
When he wakes, he wakes to the taste of eternal winter, breathing down his lungs. He wakes to the chill, frosty air that clings like cold-dew to his youthful flesh. Winding against his muscled body in a powder-film of snowy gauze. Snow covers his spine, dousing his hips in a drizzle of soft, ceramic-white. He moves off the coffin-cold earth and looks up to the sky, spreading his azure wings with a single breath of draconic prowess. His wings unfurl with all the grace of a fallen angel.
He remembers then, living, growing in his mother's womb. He remembers dying, even more. Talon feels colder than death. Talon is a million ancient memories, trapped in the heart, body and soul of a young man. Before his icy gaze, shadows pour through the dead forests, made of pine and ice. His body (flickering between equine, then dragon, then equine again) moves silently through the row of trees. His wings, snap out to his sides, erupting in a malevolent sea of lightening.
He feels otherworldly magic, singing in his blood -- the magic his father and mother gave him. When laughter falls from his ebony lips, it is dark, hushed -- it is both corruption and chaos. It is wild and masculine. Talon is lawlesss savagery, and as he walks through the empty forest made of ice, the branches both ache and quiver, bristling with the force of his devouring electricity.
O, how winter comes with ragged wanting, and pale breath. A pallid reaper. A malevolent siren. Licking death from his lips, and singing violent songs over restless, charon seas. Watch as he descends amongst the living -- not like a silent thief in the night, but a howling beast, swimming towards Hell. Loosened, for the consumption. The kill. It is very cold, glacial. Talon feels winter deep in his bones. Talon feels death.
And so, when December's wrath dawns its icy breath like a cruel kiss across his form, he will feel its frigid bite, too. The December-kiss, bids him to wake from his eternal slumber. Its ivory kiss, smoothes along his brow, his temple, his folded ears, and Talon stirs beneath the snow with a savage reckoning. Beneath its cold, cruel kiss he awakens. Rousing, from his deep sleep, a wild dragon ready to strike. Talon finally opens his eyes and greedily drinks in the world around him.
When he wakes, he wakes to the taste of eternal winter, breathing down his lungs. He wakes to the chill, frosty air that clings like cold-dew to his youthful flesh. Winding against his muscled body in a powder-film of snowy gauze. Snow covers his spine, dousing his hips in a drizzle of soft, ceramic-white. He moves off the coffin-cold earth and looks up to the sky, spreading his azure wings with a single breath of draconic prowess. His wings unfurl with all the grace of a fallen angel.
He remembers then, living, growing in his mother's womb. He remembers dying, even more. Talon feels colder than death. Talon is a million ancient memories, trapped in the heart, body and soul of a young man. Before his icy gaze, shadows pour through the dead forests, made of pine and ice. His body (flickering between equine, then dragon, then equine again) moves silently through the row of trees. His wings, snap out to his sides, erupting in a malevolent sea of lightening.
He feels otherworldly magic, singing in his blood -- the magic his father and mother gave him. When laughter falls from his ebony lips, it is dark, hushed -- it is both corruption and chaos. It is wild and masculine. Talon is lawlesss savagery, and as he walks through the empty forest made of ice, the branches both ache and quiver, bristling with the force of his devouring electricity.
YET STILL HE PRETENDS
THAT HE IS SAFE FOR ME TO LOVE
THAT HE IS SAFE FOR ME TO LOVE
