the missing diamond plagues me
where are you?
Thunder rumbles. Now the beast is alive.
(It could, however, go dormant at any time. Strike once, twice, thrice for volatility.)
A slice of lightning (not a stomp nor a clap, indeed a slap) and the scene is brought into relief.
She is inside him. Of that much he is painfully, blissfully aware.
She is there, but the diamonds are missing. She should be covered in design, in silhouette, in shapes and sounds and shifts and smiles.
But the lines are visible on him now, pulsing. She thrusts greedily, chasing for the brilliant, violent bite of every last lonely one.
But did you know that when it snows...
She is like nothing else they have known.
She is like nothing else they have known.
No one knows what it's like.