#bottledmessages

((I’d lean into a deep bow, my wings tucked neatly by my side))

I come with great news, that the salt has been scrubbed of the temple walls. I took the liberty of polishing the walls as well— the residue dulled the surface and I saw this unfit.

((I’d look up to you, Eyes swirling with anticipation)).

((My claws reach for your antlers, almost touching the tip of the highest point- almost.))

But what about sailors in love with the stars?

Do they shrivel, suffocating in the fresh vacuum of earth,

Mourning for the metal smell of seas they can drown in and never touch?

Or is the air enough

Where red skies are the closest supernovas to burn you

And you die slowly, full of oxygen,

Far away from sirens singing in light.

Or would you rather be there

As they steal your metal hulls and fuel-licked cylinders

And gift them to a void without cardinal directions

While your bones freeze into the maps

The sailors of earth use 

The Temple, i waxed and polished, sodden marble floors aglow with the dawn light and the walls reflective of your beauty, Sire.

I am ready to return to devotion to you, if you shall still have me, Luxor is always at your command.

How has the few days treated Their Grace and the Sire?

Luxor, sweet devotee, I was wondering when you might grace us with your pearlescent presence one more. Thank you for resuming your duties in the temple, it’s much appreciated- I’m afraid we haven’t had much time to ourselves to be sure of its upkeep. 

Our wellness is… undetermined at the moment, while we’re both physically well though some air pressure changes have occurred, and there may be a minor deity gracing us with their hysterics sooner rather than later, which I’m not sure is something to look forward to. Nevertheless, with the warmer weather approaching our area it’ll lead to more folks approaching the oceans, which is always a welcome presence.

((Deep bow))

I am graced by your divine presence again, and approach you with good tidings. the barnacles and such have been thoroughly removed from the well. atop this i took the liberty of re-grouting some of the brick, as it took minor damage to the de-shelling.

would my Sire like anything else? i hope he has had a restful and peaceful day.

ah, my lamb, you never cease to devote yourself completely to the task, and for this I thank you deeply.

our day was well, we were able to spend most of our day doing smaller tasks that were more pleasure than work, which is always a welcome occurrence.

It has been some time since i’ve heard from you, does all fair well?

We’ve kept the beach tidy! we found many a stray algae near the temple.

May Lux be of assistance to you today, or The Grace?

Good morrow, sweet lamb. We apologize deeply for the absence, there were some matters to attend to that took more time than expected, hurricanes and the such. We thank you deeply for your efforts in our absence, and have also caught wind of the gifts you left us during our leave- bronze and fruit seeds, yes? You’re very sweet.

((Tucking into a deep bow))

I hope the morrow treats you well, and the night was equally as pleasant.

How may Lux be of service to you today?

Luxor, my dear!

(Ori is waving over my shoulder, arm sand legs wrapped around me.)

Lux dear- our night was peaceful, I trust yours was as well- now that the marble is polished, I don’t particularly have a chore in mind… Dear?

There is nothing we fear so much as

The shining scalpel

In a perfectly square room,

The blank walls

Sterilized at all times

Without a soul to clean them.

Perhaps it is the only truth 

We are hard-wired to remember-

That life on this earth

Has to pass through broken, bloodied walls.

But here we are, still, snapping elastic against our ears

Forcing our breaths back in with paper-mint  

To make them longer.

We are dream-basement deep in 

Spotless tile rooms

And the homey, dirty glow of unwashed bars

Swinging between them, trying to spin life out of 

Rum and rubbing alcohol

So drunk we think our breath

Is vapor string. 

We are not the perfect Creator,

So, forgetting Him, we sit 

Wondering why our many broken knots

Can only poorly mimic His equations.

And without Him

We’ve forgotten

The rooms beyond the broken womb.

He created dirt to grow

And blood to breathe;

We are guilty of spilling both.

Yet He gave again,

A second, perfect, bloody birth

To knot our ribs with righteousness

To teach us again 

What perfection looks like,

To fine-tune us to His will

And grant us better eyes to see

The green beyond our broken walls

We thought, mistaken,

Five weeks into the rest of the universe, and he was still bored.

So he took five steps to the window

And slapped a moustache on a passing star,

Fiddling with the glass until it cracked

And he was bored.

So he picked at the splinters and hangnails

Until he couldn’t breathe.

And he saw the stars again

Multitudes in shattered window panes as he drifted,

Wondering why they were never this beautiful