M - her disappearing theme

[Luz Cresceno]

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JUST EXCEPTIONALLY BAD AT SAYING WHEN She dreamed of a night in Rome. The details had waxed thin with memory; there was gloss to the angles, a certain sheen smeared over every gritty bit. Perhaps it was a myth after all, a lie of moonlight and trick of stars, but her bones recalled how they had shivered at a laugh worth twice its weight in moans, and her skin bore the marks of a specific sable lass's caress. To know them once more? Wonder. To feel as if her head was going to burst, as if her tongue would turn to lead if she did not confess a sensation she could not name? Exquisite anguish, perfect pain, for any other course of action would split her skull and spill the stuff of her soul. (Dramatic, but we do speak of the astronomer.) Words! Words, again, not for the first but for perhaps the third time, failed her. There was a sense of skirting about something, of speaking without naked statements, of narrowed-eye conversation. She fumbled with her instincts. "Too much," she said, thoughtfully. "Too much loneliness." She felt asleep. There was a prick at her spine, the sort of sensation that troubled her when chased in dreams. It seemed to originate in the set of her companion's eyes, so serious, so strangely pinched with grave questions. "And so much gained," she said, slowly, her thumb's caress deceptively steady. "The alternate evil being equally convenient, in its own ways, I think." Luz would not ask her to turn away her asking eyes, would not insist that Poe return to the laughing creature of their European foray. Instead, she elected a bit more brazen path. "Tell me what's on your mind," she said, her eyes fastened on certain verdant landscapes (trapped, inexplicably, in twin irises) even as her lips pressed, very gently, a kiss to the center of the younger creature's collar bone. "Please." Her hand slid from its immediate place to an entirely different one: a twin press of the fingers to the spine, initiating an exploration of new frontiers, the mountain-chain vertebrae, the sinew-waltz below skin.

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