Send me a “(ʃƪ ˘ ³˘)” and my muse will respond witha kiss that resembles their feeling(s) or relationshiptowards yours.
Spur of the moment, really, his mouth presses to the peak of her spine. Her hair is swept over one shoulder and, out of the corner of one half-closed eye, it looks like some str- eak of blood against porcelain. Stays hovering against h- er skin in this way for several moments, while he tries to fi- gure out for himself what message he desires to convey. What he's actually trying to accomplish here.
Maybe he's just tired of opening his mouth and hearing an asshole where there should be teeth. A soul. Poetry, if h- e's lucky. Thing is, he's built himself out of concrete, and the foundation beneath is burnt wood from when he used to set himself on fire. It's hard to pinpoint his kindness. To speak from a heart that's known pain, no matter its overwhelming presence.