Butterfly Saints Only Sleep At Midnight

Her sleepy heart is a weary hollow of dancing bluebells,
frenetic dragonflies, and soft sunlight; a faerie habitat
screaming with affection. A secret hideaway open only to
those with no direction and destination, bearing the

charcoal spirit of Marlais. Synthetic fabrics don't give
the patchwork protection that she sorely needs, and only
pure, mortal silk can stitch the cracks of her fragmented
emotions. It's just as well her sweetheart always carries

strawberry medicines and cherry antidotes within his
tropical lips. Chocolate seduction tastes so much sweeter
when infused with tender, star-crossed flavour. Cloud nine
isn't concealed in heavens above, but masquerades between

patterned linen resting upon beds of stars where lovers
entwine against one another’s skin. This is where romance
and the delicate pulse of beating hearts transcends sexual
provocation, and becomes utterly psychological. Touch.

She ensnares the jukebox rhythms crafted by his rasping
voice in heart shaped boxes, and inhales their light comfort
into her dusty lungs. Tender valentines inked onto paper,
enticing and bare to her shimmering, gooseberry green eyes.

They're angels of the oasis with not a care in the world;
other than how he'll be getting his next fix of poison liquor
and where her exhausted emotions will come to rest at five
past midnight. Silence becomes aesthetic when sugar coated

beneath warm blankets, and brushes against bare flesh. Night
evolves into morning and she's still cocooned in his arms;
butterfly metamorphosis births her pretty wings and shatters
the illusion that they could never be saints of rock and roll...

Beautiful.

Awwwww, it's beautiful.

That was utterly beautiful. I'm speechless.





...Has anyone found my voice!?

I've found it. It dropped out of the screen. *inserts voice*

Thank you everyone