#speirem

if you send me words, or prompts, i’ll write poetry for sigyn or for your muse

you could walkthrough thatvalley where we metand never be able to wipethe remains of the warfrom your boots.

we wore it on our mouthsand it settled on our shouldersand in our lungs.

for the rest of your lifeyou wondered if thestill hot emberswould one daycatch fire againinside of you.

Send "Will you be quiet now?" For my muses reactions to yours pushing them against a wall and kissing them

she’s a queen of storytelling. it doesn’t quite matter what the story is about, either. the words lift from her throat like paper lanterns alight with flickering flame. warm, gentle, and exposing the world she carves out with her tongue.

but sometimes her stories seem more fit for children. sometimes they are accompanied by too much laughter, a spread of mouth and flash of teeth that would only please little babies who love a scary story or a good laugh. not a former soldier trying to seriously consider how sturdy a deteriorating floor is under the weight of his boots and her ballet slippers.

“you know where i come from there are creatures that live under the floorboards! they live under the hearth too! ooh, listen the house is talking to us, ron, what do you think it’s-”she is a queen of storytelling, and he is a king of perfect endings. of kisses that catch the swell of good-byes and turn them into i’m coming back, i’m coming back. he is the king of kisses that steal all the words like embers out of her mouth. he is the king of kisses that quiet her child-like giggles and chatter and turn the voice in her throat into something smoldering and dark when she says his name into the kiss.

“ron.”

the wall behind them has not been touched like this in such a long time. this house begins to whisper under their shifting feet, his strong push of her against the wilting walls.

so i can’t be honest & say you? k.