Hill at twilight
Hill at twilight

It was silent.

The clearing on the hilltop,

ages of passion beating beneath our bodies.

The stillness of twilight,

pounding blood through the branches of our souls.

Inky curtains of water

sifting through promises from honey-coated lips.

Our cores twined together as one,

a pulsing harmony of

stories and storytellers’ fires

flaring up to the stars as a

rebellion to the gods,

the moon blazing its

endless finalities.

It was silent.

Author Notes

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