Work Text:
i.
You think of her as a piece of art.
(A smudge, colors a red and black mess on a canvas with no end.)
Sharp bones and black eyes and full lips. Her body a weapon with intent to kill and fight and destroy the world in strides of mayhem and pain.
(On another life she'd be an angel of death you're sure.)
You'll pull her to pieces and analyze every line of the brush, every careful symmetrical point of her face and body.
She'll furrow her brows and look at you as if you're an alien.
(She'll never stop you.)
Her lips will twitch and you'll trace them with your hands, and you'll analyze analyze analyze.
(She'll never stop you.)
ii.
You let her scrutinize you because she closes her eyes every time.
Uses her hands, follows your jawline with her soft slender fingers, caresses your lips and smooths your eyebrows delicately.
She stumbles every time, touches you in all the wrong places like a blind man.
Your nose, your ear, your eyelash.
(Years ago you were almost a doctor and you know the importance of practice and encouragement of patients.)
You don't move and don't breathe and you allow her to find her way by herself.
She never ever opens her eyes.
If she does you'll move away and the searching stops.
("I'm not searching." she'll say and somehow you'll always feel relieved. You're not sure you're ready for her to find anything.)
She carves her path up to your eyes and presses one gently, and you close it but you don't blink.
(You will when she stops.)
One eye open and you can see her smile. She always smiles and leans closer and kisses your forehead, and you think you've at least figured out where the trip ends.
(She'll always miss and you'll barely conceal a grin. She calculates wrong and kisses your nose, or your brow or your hair, but never your forehead. Then she'll grunt and open her eyes, and the story will end with the unspoken promise of a sequel.)
She leans closer and kisses you.
This time she gets to her destination.
iii.
Her body is a weapon, she's deadly, like a beautifully crafted sword, yet she fits around yours like a puzzle.
(Melts melts melts, and you wonder what it takes to get iron to melt.)
She bends, twists and stretches, and you can't find a weapon to describe her.
She will exhale in your ear and you will forever feel like a dragon breathes fire on you, with gentle force and good natured motive.
(You think being with her might eventually make you fireproof.)
"Root." she'll whisper and her voice will begin with a straight spark and end with a burning curve.
Octaves that baritones would be jealous of, frequencies that humans can't catch.
"Root." she'll say and you will forever wonder what the word poses as.
(It sounds a lot like an angel summoning a faithful, to you.)
"Root." she'll say and her voice will get lost in the crispy night surrounding you.
"Root." she says, and you've never been more proud to be the one summoned.
iv.
Root feels like drowning, that much you know.
Kissing Root feels like the breath of life, touching her feels like the bottom of the sea, and looking at her is the unknown lingering on the horizon.
(You drown, drown, drown and you're certain they death isn't supposed to feel so peaceful.)
She smiles and laughs and hums and touches you, and you drown one more feet down every time.
(You're certain death shouldn't feel so peaceful.)
(It does anyway.)
v.
In the end she'll always be yours.
("In the end," she says one day, "you'll always be mine.")
In the end, her body will only curve around yours and her striking face will only have been touched by your hands.
In the end you'll let her drown to death because she'll burn you to death at the same time.
("You make me feel like I'm drowning." she whispers.)
In the end you'll always be the end of each other.
Two people that live and die out of the other's being.
("In the end," she says one day, "you'll always be mine.")
You can literally feel the soundless "As I will be yours."
You're only human after all.