Looking Past Glass Eyes

November 21, 2007
She lay unclothed except for the lace-wired gloves that snaked their way up her elbows and ankles like blind nightmare snakes.
Around her neck, is a spiked leather collar that seems to be the only thing holding her head on.
Like uncombed tree branches waving in the midst of winter, her black hair loops around her crystal cheeks and just beneath her hip bones,
Which, like the small pebbles that rippled across her naked body just beneath her breasts, stuck out like pearl doorknobs waiting to be held.
In the silence almost heard from mountaintops, blowing in the breeze with a mermaid tail and a whoosh of mechanical dread.
As cerulean as the moon's shadow sky, her eyes refract the starlight like broken marbles.
Squeezed tightly between the curves of her sterling silver medallion, the fate of the world glints underneath her French manicured fingernails.
A voice escapes in a whisper, like paper airplanes, though guided by a sunset-pink hue, always seem to drown in the ocean inside a chipped bottle... but it is not her own.

He appears with a purple champagne bottle halo hovering around his coarse golden locks that fall just below his forehead to reveal a small silver loop in his left eyebrow.
With eyes that foreshadow the deepest crevasse of personal Heaven, the silver lining of his cloudy irises contracts in the abruptness of her shadow.
Humidity, like the calming essence of a serene thunderstorm brushes lightly over the patterns that his feet leave in the dirt.
The boy who's supposed to dance on frozen tree-tops while playing the harp; with golden angel wings, he seems to have been trampled like a desert monarch.
His mother gave him the name after she saw all of her desires the second his eyelids unfolded;
And with eyes that light up San Francisco, who wouldn't have foretold their future, anyone who even blinked in his direction would see stars smiling through the galaxy, Aquarius and Orion's hollow dance.
His skin, tan - like a newborn fawn - resembles his father – the centaur, and his mother – the broken goddess, the model in the real world.
Holding out his hand to whatever may grab it and steal it away for safekeeping, he feels a silk curtain fall between his fingers… but it was only a tangle of hair.

The fragments of moonlight fell on her like a spotlight, merely to find her fading away like a cowardly ghost.
He stared into her livid eyes only to reveal an ocean of pain, where the waves crash effortlessly repeatedly, indifferent about their damages.
She gazed before the god and fell to her naked knees, only to have her jaw caressed up past the telephone wires, past the scheming crows, lifted up by only a puff of a white cloud.
Swept up in a hurricane of passion, Eros locked his lips onto Echo’s and the black and white scene flourished into surprises of Mardi Gras face paintings with butterfly eyelashes that wink sparkles and coral lipsticks adding more hues to the effervescent bruise.
His hair dreamt past her chest like dandelions as they wave goodbye to the sweet spring atmosphere, only to be greeted by the scent of arid summer lavender.
At the very moment that their eyes met, he made up his mind to give her the world.
So he gave her a canvas, and painted the swirling sapphire sky, so that when she was done with the blue, she could simply carve it away;
He tied a noose to the tail of an arrow and strangled the moon; he gave it to her in a silver pendant along with the constellations that lit up like late night candle smiles around the ring of a scarlet shower curtain.
She wore him like a locket, held closest to her heart, and his broken wings healed with the remedy of her smiles, and she showed him, the angel, what Heaven really was.

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