dance with me in this breeze scented with warm sunset cinnamon; let it play with your sweet baby hairs and loose little tears and tiny little worries until the dying light seeps into your soul and you transform now a half-wavering creature made of twilight and faerydust shimmer me, my darling! I want to be your rainbow sherbet girl: the moon dirt to your faerydust, the dusky grey dawn to your burning embers almost-night-light, the sharp newborn starlight to your heavy-bloody-deathless light catch my scent of cedar and citrus on the rain-speckled wind and follow me, humming-skylark-songbird lover of mine let’s waver together amongst the trees and remind the deciduous ones why pines rule them all when your lovely-sweet-sharp scent surrounds me with a crisp kind of warmth, all I can think of is h o m e
Illiya blinked, and some of the golden glitter coating his eyelashes fluttered down like a sheaf of fumbled papers. He gasped, clutched the Divine shovel harder, and tried not to let his cool tears fall on the flickering stars at his feet. They didn’t like that. It hurt them. He tried not to stand on them either. They may have been born of more pressure than even the immense weight of his god-born body could ever inflict on them, but he hated even the thought - even the remote impossibility - of causing them harm. They sighed and hissed to him, chanted their stories to him, told him their secrets. They told him to pass on the stories so that at least their words wouldn’t die, too. His tears flowed faster with each word that floated up to him, until he couldn’t lift the shovel another mile toward the gaping maw that demanded constant sustenance. He lifted his gaze, directing it toward the Light that never died (could never die) and cried to Heaven with wordless pleas and soundless
my emerald tide and sapphire surf by Ink-Singer, literature
Literature
my emerald tide and sapphire surf
the days are dying, lovebird. time is passing like the rise and fall of oceans and I can’t remember the taste of saltwater its scent plagues my dreams, though as if the gods want me to find them again: the oceans... the seas... those great dark depths of frothing unlit cold it’s strange. I can remember the sound of waves breaking; I remember the sand weeping and the seabirds wailing; I remember water as emotion water as home water as escape water as a body - water with curvy shores and cyclical tides and riptide currents water as vengeance water endowed with tempestuous rage and a penchant for luring men to their briny deaths and I remember bloody sunsets reflected on a vast collection of stolen teardrops; constellations playing tic tac toe between the waves I don’t remember their names; but I am certain they remember mine
blow me kisses on this bright sunflower breeze and just b r e a t h e with me, sweetheart let’s untangle grass stems together and pretend to be Kiki among the clouds and I’ll be Jiji because we both know I’ve got the cat energy and you… you’ve got all the magic wrap me up in your singular scent and twist me up among your digits and braid your hair together with mine and just coil yourself around me, lover I want you to slide me in between your favorite bones; feel me flicker there, hear me flutter there; memorize how it feels to e n c o m p a s s me together we’ll sing odes to the sea, our little harmonious vibrations carried out to her on the sweet salty breeze; and together we’ll call the greenest grass and the homiest breeze and the cutest clouds ours our little sanctuary