phosphorene

How can something so beautiful not be? Fluttering Resounding Somewhere between a wave of sound and the rush of water drawing a lost swimmer out to sea You are inexorable. Yet you yield at my cries And I am                        drawn                                 down                                          into your depths. I understand the music now. When you press a seashell to your ear, Is it the lost echo of the ocean calling out? Or is it your         heart (SOUL) Beating against the membranes of your memories from the outside-in? I am the                eternal student                    dutiful supplicant            

It's the scream in the night that gets him. It starts as a low hiss, grinding its way up to a shrill, echoing shriek that paints icy fingers along his spine so abruptly that he immediately stiffens in place, muscles locking. It's the kind of sound you hear once and never forget, praying to whatever gods might be watching above that you never had the misfortune of hearing it again. There's no mistaking it for anything other than a hunting cry, as much as he'd like to blame it on squealing tires and an overactive imagination. He swallows hard, mind screaming at him to bolt even as his body refuses to so much as shiver. Don't look behind you.

Be still. Hear the echoes of the rainstorm as it passes Dripping and sliding down warmly in slick trails of silence. Hear the halting rhythm of my heart Stuttering and skipping in overheated rose hues. Hear the gasp of my breath as it slides between my lips Rising and falling like the dance of a leaf in the wind. Be the listener. See the darkness behind thin-veiled and fluttering eyelids Pulsing and shifting like fog on the sea. See the flush of my throat Arching and straining like a captive bound beast. See the frosted gleam of blue without end Shifting and shimmering like a newly pinned butterfly. Be the one who gazes upon the