She dreamed of paradise.

Insomnia · 04-18-2012, 06:05 PM

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Word Count → 639 :: moo i'm tired.

She rises from the carnage, ripe and soft, bare in the frays of lace and leather, and sultry sweet. A soul petrified, long dead in the husk and livened in the flesh. The flesh which is, so tender. Which is, so ravishing. So cold and vast, scraping over every edge of slender muscle, every ripple of archangel skeleton, stretched in the image of porcelain beauty. Her fingers the spidery digits that spread, thin and whitened at the nails, over the heaving trace of her chest. She knows your pain, she whispers, or so – a thought, a thought meandering into your own mind which cradles the vision of comfort, heaven. Heaven, in swan's skin. Her feet tread, a silence follows. Ominous, bearing no light to its form, the sinuous frame of satan conspired. Puzzling dominion over earthly things, but extraterrestrial to the senses; immense pleasure, incarnate, and beyond reach forever. She promises, the apple of eden. It is in her eyes. Eyes that see through you, eyes that pry, dissect you inside out, eyes who devour you slowly, inch by aching inch. Her gaze penetrates in violating indifference, brazen in the conquest for your core, what makes you tick. What makes your blood pulse heavier than before, what pronounces your delicate veins and rummages their indigo strands, what causes your heart to thunder so, so voraciously, so violently, so dangerously near her touch, her lie, her studying hands that map muscle and masculine contour. Mercilessly, viciously, madly. The meticulous rake of her sharpened nails biting into risen flesh and salted sweat dripping, the dirt along your collarbone. The languid stretch of her fingers as they careen past every smooth knot of tendon and knead against their tense pangs, press gingerly the sore from your bones. But there is hell in paradise, so she adds, blushing lips sidling close to your cheek, and tonguing fantasia drips the venom in your ear, the poisonous whispers of sweet nothing lechery. Her teeth are sharp, and death's flight but a dagger's kiss to your shuddering nape, as her nails dig deep, fingers spread within your ribs, caressing the swollen pit of your lungs and carrying swiftly up to grasp your heart in an iron embrace. A debt, a debt to pay.

The knit of tender woven silk lapping the curves of her lithe body, that glistened beneath the lunar glow; the serenity in a whisper, a kiss delivered to hushing blows, as she proceeded – mother night, her receding oceans imploring desperately the ravenous stretch of sylph sinew. As she knelt beside the flowing waters, their depths endless beyond their clear glass and succeeded by the toss of ripples in the water. As she rest among the open fields, pressed her fingers to the unholy temples of death and eternity. The stars spread beyond them, beyond galaxies wasted in their crusade, wafted eerily thus these glimpsing pinnacles of dauntless fury, and webbing passion. Ere the dawn's reckless reclamation of the earth she tread pitiless, foreign.

A trail of exotic perfume lingered the breeze along her, the erotic pull of her drawl tethered to every sultry dip of her toned bod, every cunning ploy of captivating motion progressed past the discarded train of wild lily petals. She found rest along the damp shores of a mellow river, sensuously lounged along their banks. Bathing quietly at their borders she washed the dirt from her silken black limbs, bid the quiet at her side in the comfort of its companionship. A pause drew – in momentary fixation over the moon's rippling reflection over the ginger currents of the shallow waters, and a sigh flooded her lungs. A ghost departed, slipping gently over the dark curve of her luscious lips and their fanciful press of stitching fangs. “and, so silent a night I find, restless and alone.”

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