[private] strange stars in my sky . carnage

[Carnage]

and lord, I fashion dark gods too;

Tang--
It brings to mind a sharpness on the tongue, a puckering of lips. But also sweetness, a flavor indiscernible. And there is certainly such a scent in the air now, as the season shapes their minds, crass and wanton, the air between them heated.
To him, she is a body, a promise, one of many to breed stars within. Something to be had, and perhaps forgotten (many of their names have slipped his mind, or he never bothered to learn them at all), but some remain, certain summer-sweet memories of a moment exchanged.
And what is he to her? A body, swathed in stars, or –
He invades her mind, and does not hide such an invasion, lets her feel the way he parses her memories until he finds the vision of himself, reflected back in such brilliance for a moment even he feels the wanting in the back of his throat.
A god, then. A supernova. Brilliance made flesh.

I dreamed about you, she says, and he smiles, as if he is kind.
“Of course you did,” he says – he has never been humble – and he closes the space, too, “but it was bigger than a dream, wasn’t it?”
Writ in the stars, you could say.
He is close enough to touch her, now, but he doesn’t. It would be too easy, to take, a quick and unsatisfying moment. No, he prefers them to ask for such things, to welcome it.
(He’s always preferred a bent knee to a broken one, though he’ll take both kinds.)
He pretends to ponder her question.
“And what was it,” he says – purrs, really – “that I gave you?”

CARNAGE