The wind sweeps across her high cheekbones like a bed sheet; silky, smooth, and early in the morning. In essence, the wind is her lover, a gentle hand slipping the covers across her delicate skin until she lies in a heap of vulnerability, all ankles and wrists and collar bones. The wind to her is to her both commanding and soft-hearted, for some mornings dawn with a whistle and a slash against her glistening fur, and others dawn with trails of kisses brushing down her stomach.
Her hushed breath curls as smoke about a fire, though she be not red but as black as ash; nay, as black as midnight, a discrete mélange of ebony and navy. Cobalt eyes study the smoggy exhalation, enjoying how temporary an existence it has. For her, however, a different fate: years and years of this and that, when all she truly knows is the wind.
Returning her focus to the stoic meadow, Cinzia rolls her shoulders, thereby releasing tension caught stubbornly in the thick base of her wings. The muscles pinch irritably, disagreeing with the idea the coy mare’s idea. Ears twitching, she listens to her lover; and as he gently pushes her towards the opening, she smiles.
It’s been too long.
Slipping towards a lonestanding tree, her figure glistens beneath the rising sun. At certain angles her black figure shines navy, the ash turns sapphire. And perhaps someone might just appreciate her midnight beauty; enjoying the breeze on her skin, she wonders if they will see her as a multi-faceted jewel, or a simple bruise.
Her hushed breath curls as smoke about a fire, though she be not red but as black as ash; nay, as black as midnight, a discrete mélange of ebony and navy. Cobalt eyes study the smoggy exhalation, enjoying how temporary an existence it has. For her, however, a different fate: years and years of this and that, when all she truly knows is the wind.
Returning her focus to the stoic meadow, Cinzia rolls her shoulders, thereby releasing tension caught stubbornly in the thick base of her wings. The muscles pinch irritably, disagreeing with the idea the coy mare’s idea. Ears twitching, she listens to her lover; and as he gently pushes her towards the opening, she smiles.
It’s been too long.
Slipping towards a lonestanding tree, her figure glistens beneath the rising sun. At certain angles her black figure shines navy, the ash turns sapphire. And perhaps someone might just appreciate her midnight beauty; enjoying the breeze on her skin, she wonders if they will see her as a multi-faceted jewel, or a simple bruise.