Crystal Cages That Keep

Black lace and curvature. Half-lit rooms and the smell of incense mixed with camphor.

The way you speak is a dark chord pulled out from your depths, up your throat, and out of your mouth.

Fragile, but full.

Let me tell you something about how you are courting me. If that is, indeed, what you are doing.

It is perfect, and safe, and stretched out, and well timed. There is no pressure.

There are only stories of the childhood back and forth from a gray land to this green-gray one. There is music. There is reserve.

Within this, there is a freedom I feel that is rare. There is the gift of time. To fantasize. To think. To wonder. There is time to piece things together.  To be honest. To let you in, as opposed to dodging the thieves that are always in such an odd, capitalist hurry to know who I am. (So as not to be ashamed, I am certain.)

Here is to those whose least concern is looking a fool.

It provides the very difference

between captured

 and kept.


be well; be loved,

k.

(image via witchesxsabbath tumblr)