[open] Can you hear what I hear?

[Pentecost]

Do you want to know why I use a knife?
Guns are too quick. You can't savor all the...
little emotions. In... You see, in their
last moments, people show you who they
really are. So, in a way, I know your friends
better than you ever did.

Do you? Her voice is a sweetness that lingers in my ears, and I cannot help but wish to have more than our syllables touch. My eyes trace over her body, when only moments ago it tremored with a radiating heat and energy that begged me to come closer. It stops now with a soft hum of anticipation, as if maybe my voice is an aged earth-wood to balance the sweetness of a merlot-flushed apple. A match so delectable and crisp, yet dependable, and safe. We can keep her safe, safe, safe… I know we can. I look to her, her hickory carcass illuminating in the softest of glows as the sun dips behind the archaic forest, and I wonder if it has a temperature or if she just naturally emits a warmth that resonates with even the most horrific parts of me. “You are without a doubt the most fascinating creature I have ever crossed Leonora,” I hold her name in my mouth with hesitancy, as if letting it go might risk never breathing it again. “I would never hurt you.” It’s true, what I say. I will not ever split a hair on the star-kissed mare, whose face shimmers of a map to forever and whose mane tangles in a mess that I want to get lost in. I hesitate to make promises beyond that, because one day she might need me to hurt someone. And I might do it. (For her) I take a step forward, it’s meager In size but genuine in gesture. I cannot help but feel a stronger pull, as if my mind begs please, one more though I dare not. Akin to the biscotti-haired doe exposed in the early morning haze, I fear Leonora might retreat into the mist as if she never really existed after all. Perhaps a cruel tease, my mind does that often. “But, I…” My voice cuts into the air, a sputtering doubtfulness that spits into the air before I have time to puzzle-build a sentence, “I cannot lie to you, Leonora. I do sometimes think of hurting someone… Sometimes even, myself.” I watch her, search her past the map of stars and distractingly-alluring entanglement of black hair. I search for a verdict, will she stay? Or did the small peak at instability denounce any chance we had at following that map?

PENTECOST

WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW WHO WERE COWARDS?

@[leonora]