I watched him sleep. His eyes fluttered behind his lids like moth wings battling a fluorescent light. His hands were clasped together in prayer on the top of his midsection like his body was ready to be buried under 6 feet of damp soil. This life of his; like death concealed by brawn, wrapped in tissued sweet breads, baked around my skin for miles. His bracelets held beads shadowed by blackened eyes of fallen demons and gold link pendants of crosses and Jesus praying positioned on the nape of his neck. He dreamt only in colors of ashen lava that destroyed the life around it, unconscious of his conscience.
He slept and he dreamt, he fluttered in peace while I watched the world die around him. Vines strangled the hummingbirds and pink tulip petals were covered in holes as the acid rain fell from the sky. I pressed my mouth on his and sucked slow. The color of poison and venomous shrieks filled my lungs like smoke.
Lambs died slow inside of me with the same monotony as molasses. Death by fire would’ve been quick, but those serrated blades that decorated my bloodshed linens seemed to speak to me like the whispers under his tongue; and I’d kill a thousand more just to hear them. The tornados inside of my heart whipped cities to the ground and I swallowed the molten lava that buried them. A blue ball of wildfire simmered in the pit of my stomach, threatening the black eyed demons that played on his wrist. I could kill them all with one snatch of the cross he bears around his neck, but I have a different cross to bear. Because I’d be ravished by a thousand storms before I let him stop breathing. Besides, the hummingbirds are flying again.