His jaw can avert stone—there is a hint
of lust in her eyes. When she coughs
a laugh from her hissing secrets, he knows
she's trapped. The fire of her boundaries
combust under the command of his split personas;
cold, cruel and unusual: her eyes devour his.
And when their lips meet, their mouths are
a fury of justifications; of submit and serve,
only she knows the need of his tongue,
bitter-nails etching the back of leathery
resistance. He is like a man-trick in a jungle
of berries, and her legs once crossed
in seduction. They were the colour of sun-
blush, cherry-meadows, ripening clay, like
the taste of fresh spring water, until a drop
of a curse inked her cup, and her echoes
curled pines in the breeze. But his chest is
the salt of hills in the rain, thighs smell
of the unseen deep of the ocean; his arms,
a habit of possession—
she parselbirth—
he with rippling climber's calves—
she baroque-tragedy—
he siren-lurer.

First published in Freezine of Fantasy and Science Fiction



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