The simple yet complicatedly beautiful touch of hers made him feel as delicate as a feather.
Her fingertips would lightly graze against the curves in his arm, it was as if she could see edges in his muscles that he could not.
The movements were not sensual but more endearing and sad.
Her eyes sang songs and moaned melodies from enduring the pain she felt when being able to touch him for these moments knowing it would end.
Darling, my heart is drunk. Drunk off of you and she’s afraid of the hangover that intrigued as well.
The game of hers did not help with the way she wanted to sleep.
Being dangerous with her helped him figure out how he wanted to die.
He wanted everything and she did not want anything.
While she was going under he was pulling at her strings trying to get her to rise as high as he was.
They were birds floating across clouds and riding on their small gusts of air, but one of them was crying while the other one laughed.
His wings would slap her while he was trying to help her fly with him.
And he had no idea.
She enjoyed it either way.