She moved her body in tune with the rhythm of the stardust, stargazer, starkissed lady, resting her eyelids to focus her attention on senses beyond sight. Because she anticipated that cliché move, or maybe just craved it, a kiss of quirked comfort. Poe too, liked loneliness. But perhaps it was in the way that you come to like, even love, that which is familiar for better or worse. Because you could anticipate what it would entail—loneliness was a fine example of this. So that Poe could get her feet wet, dance and play in the musical lust and care of her sweet little love affairs. Drench herself, but be oh-so sure that she would not drown. Entirely sure that nothing and no one could steal her away, let alone crash her into the shores where she saw so many corpses. Her mother’s was there, rotting alive. It was safer be independent of that, even if it did mean lonely. It was a twisted logic that she couldn’t quite keep at bay.
Eyes closed and chin tilted to the ceiling, Poe wrapped an arm around Luz’s long waist, and snaked the other up her spine, twirling and tracing the vertebrae along the way to her neck. Her body sang, but her head spun, around and around that feeling-turned-construct of loneliness. It could have been the cold, short days, or the instinctual wrong of a pack animal turned lone for too long, or the heat that Luz conjured in her touch turning the rest of her body cold, but it seemed unnatural in her bones. This distance or shield of hearts. A lie, a lie, a blind eye all this time, unnecessary losses that she had never grieved. Her name tickled the hair under her ear, and she opened her eyes in an expression to match Luz’s eureka, slanted in the slightest by a furrowed brow. “There’s been too much loneliness, though,” she mumbled, turning her face into the smooth-edges features of her lover-friend-something, searching to meet the eyes behind those long feather-lashes. “A lot is missed there.” A pause, a moistening of startled mouth and throat, the D’Angelo girl’s eyes eased into an appearance much truer to her rising age than her features insisted. Very rarely did she show a dark seriousness in conversation, let alone in an embrace.
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