selflessnessforall

In the spring, amid the tall grass, the swamp grass on the outskirts of a wood he takes her paint smeared fingers, sepia, crimson, vermilion branding the ivory white palette of her hands, and presses each one to the curl of his mouth; sucking and biting and longing for sustenance from the ochre, copper, violet streaking her blue-veined skin. She smiles with eyes that match the sky and gives him all her strength. In the summer, under the green leafed canopy she laces flowers in her hair, dances across the umber of the forest floor, braids and ribbons streaming. He watches her with folded arms, flicking ash idly, until