Page 161 of Shadowman
This connection… It scares the living shit out of me.
I can’t do it again…
“Sweet fury…” he whispers.
My heart is thumping steadily against my ribcage. Right in his direction. “How… did you…”
“It’s in your book.” He grins.Oh… right. I wrote about Ren giving me this tattoo he’s touching.“I think it’s perfect… Because that’s exactly what you are. Thesweetestfury.”
I force myself to huff, despite the out-of-control carnival ride that is my thoughts.
This is too much right now.
Too heavy… getting too deep…
So I shut it down. Shelving it all, I simply yawn and scoot in closer.Future Byron’s problem.“Will you tell me another poem?”
He stares at my mouth, flipping my stomach because I think I really want him to kiss me…
But he gives me lush and tender words instead.
“Him”
By Trevel Fenwick
Counting breaths, and the thumps buried beneath muscle and skin soft like velvet.
Each represents a moment of afterglow I’m basking in.
Could this be a dream? I’ll accept death over waking from it.
Sated, I lie in wait, and watch, and breathe. Gazing, enchanted.
Bound by the way he looks, and our beats like a mirror.
Slowed, we are calm now. Nourished, we’ve been fed. Cool water to the scorching tongue.
The way we moved was a wicked dance. A tango of muscle strain and primal chase. Searing licks of flames laid in the wake of greedy fingertips.
My temple offered as his sanctuary, on a silver platter of tangled sheets. We were consumed, from deep inside. A stretch, a burn. Push, pull. Cry.
Come.
Magic made in a bed of truths set free. On the outside, and within… I see. I feel, everywhere. I fall prisoner to that body and those eyes and this draw, while the tempo of my heart echoes but one word…
Him. Him. Him.
Him.
There’s this phrase I heard once, from acolleagueof mine when I was a teen working on the street.
I always worked alone, but I was aware that many of the kids my age were under the wing of someone—or an organization of someones. Aunionof sorts, I suppose… Still, I knew better than to ask questions, or get involved.
You tend to look out for one another on the streets; a bond formed in similar circumstances. To this day, I consider those kids the only realfriendsI’ve ever had, despite barely knowing anything about them.
One of them, a boy who went by Stitch, used to say this thing…“Check yourself before you wreck yourself.”
At the time, I didn’t know what it meant, but I knew I liked it, mainly because it rhymed. Rhyming has always entertained me, hence my love of poetry—and no, poetry doesn’t always have to rhyme, but it’s fun when it does.I like music with rhyming lyrics, rhyming jokes and limericks. I remember loving theMother Goosestories as a child.
