the rocks might melt; the sea may burn. || circinae

[Canaan]

well, the good ol' days may not return,
and the rocks might melt, and the sea may burn.

     Within the tightly bound confines of his chest, his heart pounds slowly and steadily, rhythmic in the way it surges the blood through his veins. The hollow sound echoes, but he is too preoccupied by the wistful thoughts that carries him away, to distant places, and once forgotten memories. 

   He can almost taste the salt and brine in the air from the first moment he had set eyes on the sea, with its immense depth, and impossibly tempting allure – its soothing, surging waves lapping gently at the shore. He can still feel the hot, forbidden sun, warming the hollowed bones of his wings as they stretch out across the bright, vivid blue sky. His hazel eyes search the starlit night, tracing various patterns in the seascape of his mind, lost to his own recollection of moments long since passed.

  Suddenly, he is torn away from his reverie, his bright eyes blinking away the bleary trance he had fallen prey to as a high-pitched tone carries through the thick, warm air. His muscle laden neck twists, turning his broad cheek towards the intriguing sound. Wait! - and so he does, his long legs growing still, blending seamlessly with the dried, swaying grasses that caress the length of his limbs with each waft of tepid air. A pillar of femininity and grace, the young female is brought closer to him by her own slender, but sharply defined legs, and his gaze follows along their elegant ridges and lines, across her broad chest and shapely neck.

  Her skin is as vibrant and as rich as the emerald pine needles that bind together, tightly knit along wiry branches, stark against the moonlit horizon – and her tresses, carefree and tangled against the nape of her neck, are as dark and as opulent as the midnight sky. She is unusual, yet captivating (and admittedly, there is something about her that stirs an uncomfortable uneasiness within him, but he cannot discern what). With his interest piqued, the smooth muscles beneath his own golden skin ripple beneath as he revolves around, his broad russet wings still tucked against his sides. A carefree, easy smile tugs at the corners of his whiskered lips, the ridges of his brow furrowed in amusement at her lighthearted banter.

  ”No, of course not,” he says, his voice rough from disuse, a rugged chuckle grating along his vocal cords as she feigns discontent. ”that would be rude, wouldn’t it? Hello. My name is Canaan. And you are?”

Canaan