Dynamic
Bright. She is so bright.
She floats like amber sunlight; incorporeal as spider silk and just as tensile. Sharp, glass-bright blues warm flesh like a breath. She moves like a caress of silver; a rippling, spatter of light dancing on a water membrane. A trace of her velvet fingers is like a kiss of fire at your nape, a skitter of static across your skin, a phosphorous flash of heat in your gut. Peach-sweet and ripe. She’s the song of flight on mercury wings. Smile star bright and mapping constellations. She is golden.
Gentle. He’s so gentle.
A caress of autumn and tepid touches. He is liquid warm and a breath of colour. The soft curve of his mouth like curling, sun-baked leaves, the pads of his fingers like wood grain whirls. He is a rumble of deep earth that decided to stand. He is the warm leather that surrounds a timeless fable. Full of wisdom. His words spill from the corners of his lips like lazy tendrils of blue smoke. Like coils of burning paper. Like the flicker-flame embers crackling in a hearth. He is homely.
They are opposites. Counterparts. They work in tandem like the push and pull of sensuous sinew. They rove and the ground rolls for them. A team. A drive. Like a crashing, blue wave and the bubbling sand beneath. Like a quaking tempest and a lick of lightning. They are opposites. They are a force; an action and a reaction. They are harmony. They fit. I wonder how I can mould into their dynamic.
