ext_291462 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
noir-au-blanc.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
31_days2012-07-03 04:13 pm
noir-au-blanc.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2012-07-03 04:13 pm
July 3 - Original - Ink and Dust.
Title: Ink and Dust
Day/Theme: 3 July – "You're an artist," he says.”
Series: Original
Rating: PG
Summary: There’s gold on the windows, a twist of the heart and silence on the wind.
"I am going to sink into the deep sleep" she said, "so deep that you would never find me, if you were to search..."
There are many days that I fell in love with you, I fell in love with the notion of you, in love with your hands and fingers that would cup my face within. I fell in love with the length of your body from feet to neck and above.. I would bury myself within the tenuous fibres of muscle and flesh to breathe you from the inside out.
To curl is to twist, winding possessive of your body and mind, for you are mine.. you were always mine and no-one else’s. No other would possess and be possessed of your soul, your wickedness, the beauty of you under me.
With these circles and lines, and burnt umber sprawled carelessly along beams and floor, and the candles that burnt themselves to pitch, her fingers slowly caressed the pages, over his face, and his eyes most of all.. flicking off the dust that had settled over the chalked images lying almost hidden beneath all other aspects.
Day/Theme: 3 July – "You're an artist," he says.”
Series: Original
Rating: PG
Summary: There’s gold on the windows, a twist of the heart and silence on the wind.
"I am going to sink into the deep sleep" she said, "so deep that you would never find me, if you were to search..."
There are many days that I fell in love with you, I fell in love with the notion of you, in love with your hands and fingers that would cup my face within. I fell in love with the length of your body from feet to neck and above.. I would bury myself within the tenuous fibres of muscle and flesh to breathe you from the inside out.
To curl is to twist, winding possessive of your body and mind, for you are mine.. you were always mine and no-one else’s. No other would possess and be possessed of your soul, your wickedness, the beauty of you under me.
With these circles and lines, and burnt umber sprawled carelessly along beams and floor, and the candles that burnt themselves to pitch, her fingers slowly caressed the pages, over his face, and his eyes most of all.. flicking off the dust that had settled over the chalked images lying almost hidden beneath all other aspects.