Your lover is a woman. She will lie among the dewy grass, turning and twisting as the morning sun begins to trickle down onto the sleepy earth, stretching her lithe arms out towards your still body. The calls of beaten-down crickets and mourning doves will begin to ring in her ears and she will believe that everything the light touches becomes alive again. A warped thought, one that has rattled in her brain for the years that you have known her, will begin to escape her pink lips but as she turns to face you once more, it will be lost to the wind.
Your lover is a woman. She will abandon your body, waiting for you to awake from dreams of the aquamarine water beginning to lap at your throat as you are caressed by a hand soft like a child. She will stain her caked dress as she finds her spot in the dirt and decay, picking through for nuts and berries and flowers to consume. She will lay out a small portion for you, one that will be stolen by the conniving squirrels from the hefty oak tree, and she will begin to pick through her meal. She will set aside all the yellow wood sorrels for you; they are your favorite after all.
Your lover is a woman. Throughout the morning and afternoon, she will carry out both yours and her own chores. One of the last, she will strip down to nothing before stealing away your crisp gown, and place them under the running river. There, one may see the hardships she has endured, the dark love bites peppered across her body, and her raw skin peeling away. Sunspots will have speckled her heart at this point, a sign not of old age but persistence.
Your lover is a woman. As evening falls in accordance with the orange sun, her mind will bring forth something terrible. You are standing on a wooden platform, stained with ash, smoke, and innocent blood, as a fire begins to kiss your ankles. You continue to stand tall and proud and defiant. The red flames can only dance around your feet and stain your soul. She pulls you away and takes you to the aquamarine depths, to purify and to cleanse. To save you. Tears are now trickling down her cheeks as she turns to look at you, still and unmoving but not charred. The light has failed once more to waken you today, but tomorrow is another opportunity. She will mumble this into your ear before giving it a timid kiss and wrapping her arms around you, cradling a corpse close to her chest.
Your lover is a woman.
Your lover is a woman. She will abandon your body, waiting for you to awake from dreams of the aquamarine water beginning to lap at your throat as you are caressed by a hand soft like a child. She will stain her caked dress as she finds her spot in the dirt and decay, picking through for nuts and berries and flowers to consume. She will lay out a small portion for you, one that will be stolen by the conniving squirrels from the hefty oak tree, and she will begin to pick through her meal. She will set aside all the yellow wood sorrels for you; they are your favorite after all.
Your lover is a woman. Throughout the morning and afternoon, she will carry out both yours and her own chores. One of the last, she will strip down to nothing before stealing away your crisp gown, and place them under the running river. There, one may see the hardships she has endured, the dark love bites peppered across her body, and her raw skin peeling away. Sunspots will have speckled her heart at this point, a sign not of old age but persistence.
Your lover is a woman. As evening falls in accordance with the orange sun, her mind will bring forth something terrible. You are standing on a wooden platform, stained with ash, smoke, and innocent blood, as a fire begins to kiss your ankles. You continue to stand tall and proud and defiant. The red flames can only dance around your feet and stain your soul. She pulls you away and takes you to the aquamarine depths, to purify and to cleanse. To save you. Tears are now trickling down her cheeks as she turns to look at you, still and unmoving but not charred. The light has failed once more to waken you today, but tomorrow is another opportunity. She will mumble this into your ear before giving it a timid kiss and wrapping her arms around you, cradling a corpse close to her chest.
Your lover is a woman.