Her icy face sparkled palely, the cratered moon. My loving fingers timidly quivered on her sapphire neck, frigid stings in the flashback eve. Sadness fogs her breath as it droops from her mouth in a tired sigh. Her sapped, sea-breeze skin is taut and unreactive, absolutely timeless.
I remember her eyes. She had pools of them swimming and swaying in isolated trenches. All staring out, imperious and impassive, sharply superior. But tonight, tonight they were sheathed and tender, and they were looking at me.
With an impassioned heave she went limp in the sky, my craning body aching with effort. Fading, fading, blink by blink, as the stars winked through her busty bodice, stabbing pinholes at the speed of light. From these beaded blood: black blood that blanketed her without a whisper, spiriting her from my desperate embrace.
My eyes continued to project her image onto the depthless canvass well after her scent had gone, and her blood had caked the sheets.
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