Set Aside to Dream | a study in the twilight and grotesque
Constricting and intense. She shuffled between my arms.
Gently, gently lilting her head, she slept in my lap. Heaving and warm. Body and flesh so earthly, fresh and firm. In the quietness of the carriage I pondered many things unrelated in nature, drawn together like the ribbon-strings behind Amelia’s corset, each string twining and tangling ‘round her ribs with a phantom force. Constricting and intense. She shuffled between my arms. Was something wrong? But no answer at all. Her lashes dappled like winter branches of elms we grew outside her window at Windrise, mauve and laden with something smoking, something sensual. Down her neck there ran little rivers, pale blue-green under the damp light of the coachman’s lamp. Bulging, surging. With life? Her hand did a little dance across the hem of her dress, little droplets shining at the corner of her eyes.
Amelia. I whispered. Her hair was the smell of sweet wine and ferret pelts. Amelia.
I set my syringe aside. I blew out the lantern. What does your dream taste like?
