It began cumbersomely,
as all things like that do.
They stumbled through the dark of her halls,
and rooms,
and doors,
only to find themselves
engulfed in identical darkness.
Until,
at last,
with a single click,
the brilliance of her face was illuminated.
But the pure passion they found themselves in
wasn't enough alone
to disguise the scenes strangeness.
She looked into his eyes.
She said she wanted it to be dark.
She said she wanted him to speak to her.
Like an angel,
comforting a forsaken soul.
Like the devil,
trying to buy a pure spirit.
Like the wind through the trees,
Whispering seasons,
Whispering Tastes of snow;
Whispering of dying leaves;
Whispering of bright sun and a lack of rain.
She said she wanted to taste his breathe,
close,
a days memories breathed in.
Seconds and centimeters from touching
whispering truths
or lies
or whatever was most wonderful
it didn't matter anymore.
She said she wanted to be immersed;
in only the purest;
and most easily remembered senses.
She said she wanted this to prove as some vigil to innocence when she looked back on it.
As some point of turning or transformation.
As a moment of clarity,
shrouded in an indescribable darkness.
She said she wanted it to start,
and so with another click
they began.