Just one word, one heartbeat, one misstep or right step away from disaster… never immune. Immunity is for immortals.
You trace my scars with your fingers. Paths of destruction leading down blind alleys into waiting jaws. I hear the drip drip drip, and a soft pant of breath. Is it yours? Mine?
You told me not to hope with too much abandon while you looked into my soul and saw the fallacy of your own words. Abandon is all I know. Abandonment. They entwine with one another as we do, skin wrapped in skin, wet and velvet and the slow steady thud of your heart, so reassuring. I tell you I don’t care about immortality, as long as my time is well-spent.
No one sees them but you. What you trace on my skin is an invisible mark, left by an invisible heart. If I could wrap you in parchment and put you under glass for safekeeping, I would. Holding you is like holding a whisper. Yet your teeth in my neck say different. Your fingers bruise. You claim with your sex, with your mind, with the forcible strength of your character.
I wonder who follows whom down these dark halls.