Illuminated by the unforgiving fluorescence of the stage, she observed him struggle against the clamour of oversized prop chains with a prideful indifference that he often despised but also found strangely irresistible during foreplay.
Beneath her breath, against the dirty rim of a double old fashion, she murmured to herself.
“..swallowed the key.”
Stand before me so tangibly as to block out all the light behind you. I want you to possess flesh and bone carved from monuments, to wield words as sharp as axes, to cry tears of bitter saline, and with gorgeous absolution promise me sanctuary from the apparitions of this world. The ghosts who haunt the shadows of the parties, lurking in momentary spaces and captivating abstract conversations, fueled by the rhapsody of spirits, exotic chemicals and fleeting courage.