“Do you think I’m pretty without makeup on? What do you prefer?”
“I think you are beautiful, and your self-expression is beautiful. Wear makeup. Wear nothing.
Whatever you like, darling.”
“Do you like when I wear makeup? What do you prefer?” Loki asks.
“I fucking love it. It’s somehow natural when you do.”
“Because I’m not trying. I’m reacting to myself.”
Cedar bites my finger,
snake-scaled leaflet.
Green scenting and tree blood, sticky.
An offering for the trickster.
Salting myself, coarse friction,
dissolving granules
of earth and sea.
My skin hums, exposed to sensation.
My heart burns.
My mind intent on simple ritual and result.
I hum a funeral song for the departed
and the blessing of what once was.
“I want you to take my rose and tear the petals into pieces over your bed,” Loki instructs.
The rose I had offered him is given back. I do as he says.
“Now sleep in it.”
I find dark beauty in every side of you, luscious monster, and powerful quake. Fiery sunset, the forest that burns too close to home. I love your danger most. -Rogue
“Don’t change the subject. I asked you to allow me to woo you.”
“I have no idea what that means, Loki.”
“Afraid of surprises?” he teases.
“Yeah. Not only are you a god, you are a giant. That’s the epitome of intimidating.”
“I didn’t ask to be intimidating to you. I asked to woo you,” he says.
“If you do that, then I don’t know how I’ll react.”
“You fear you’ll never be free of me. Or that you’ll lose yourself in hopeless love for me, the kind that you can’t put down.”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to be tied down.”
“Then I’m the least of your worries, darling. I won’t tie you down. I’ll set you free. Continuously.”
Danger tinges his words.
“We never seem to finish what we’ve started,” Loki says while pinning me playfully.
A long, wet lick up the side of my face.
I tremble with delight and terror.
“Oh, dear God, you know.” I realize.
“I do know.”
“I’m so screwed.”
“Yes,” Loki agrees.
A single cello carries what words cannot: desire, longing, depth, and light, a flame in the dark, an invocation of romance that endures beyond night.
-Rogue
When the air turns electric and the veil thins, beauty takes on a darker feel. No screams, no chainsaws, just the thrill of imagination and the shiver of inspiration. -Rogue
Love is the haunting that never fades. -Rogue
Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén