S
sykrmatique
Guest
The still night was like the sashay, curt and lead to flourish, like a sharp climax in a symphony, resonant with the stray swaying of the crusading bustle, enlightened by the cosmos, in of reverence from the separation from faith and repentant beasts.
As ever, the good byes were foul and heavy, wore on to the next day, and like the stars climbed up into the night like fallen angles. Hours drawn in the lonely wait for the dream to start felt like complete frowns, affronts on the cramped form of the scatter of a globe revolving through chronic stasis.
Then the shouts began, and the trumpets lived again in the blasting vibrant, hiding the width of the leash. I ghosted to the alter, gliding from a shade, trails, hiding evasive. There, as charged, melting at the alter, you respired, flames creeping over you darkly, shadows ever touching your lanky form, silhouette.
Flickering in the quickening heartbeat…
As ever, the good byes were foul and heavy, wore on to the next day, and like the stars climbed up into the night like fallen angles. Hours drawn in the lonely wait for the dream to start felt like complete frowns, affronts on the cramped form of the scatter of a globe revolving through chronic stasis.
Then the shouts began, and the trumpets lived again in the blasting vibrant, hiding the width of the leash. I ghosted to the alter, gliding from a shade, trails, hiding evasive. There, as charged, melting at the alter, you respired, flames creeping over you darkly, shadows ever touching your lanky form, silhouette.
Flickering in the quickening heartbeat…