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So perfect in her imperfections, beautiful, wild and mad, surely there was a deity somewhere smiling on them.
Tell me a story she said. Make it tight, and dark.
All femmes are fatales.
It's too late. The masks are on. You aren't getting anything real.
You are the star I found in a new constellation and I trace your path on dark mornings.
Drink her in the moment and see nothing else.
Her fingers in his hair, pushed him back and watched him as he found her. It was much more dangerous with eyes open.
A briefcase of stained notebooks and tangled earbuds from road trips past lay on the seat and it was now just the voices in his head.
Lie with me til the monsters go away.
A little beauty was all they were searching for. Something innocent and beautiful.
When she was quiet like this, when she rationed her words, measured her thoughts and stared intently, he waited for the poetry to come.
In her city, in her bed, he made her speak in her own language. In shrieks and laughs he watched her lips, repeating his favorite words.
And the moment is gone; the moment is always gone.
She whispers close and lightly, cheek to cheek. He asks her to repeat, just to feel her breath again.
A pause by her door, hand raised to lightly tap, he ceased breathing and listened. She saw his shadow and silently waited.
She could say "Oh baby" a hundred different ways, but the night she whispered it through a lock of tousled hair, he wanted to stay forever.
The creeping cold, it slithers in when doors are cracked, along the floor wrapping around your legs to steal what it can.
Sunrise surprised them, clinging to the darkness and pieces of each other. He tried to think of something beautiful to say in her silence.
Search parties never found her, never a body or a discarded phone. Once he thought he saw her face in a window, glancing through curtains.
Crawl into this crevice with me. Plenty of room to fake our deaths and kill our dreams.