I went a little heavy handed with this one. It was fun to write though.
Back and forth they swayed in a momentous fellowship of distant souls. Blonde and ruby and emerald and pitch merged with a hungry lust in tune with the sublime upon the stage. Michael married to the sights and sounds and emotions across the expanse of skin and grass. Their bodies synched and tethered to the rhyme and reasoning of the writer and painter and lover and fighter. Beautiful strength flowed around the stage listening, desiring, hoping, and falling for more.
With one final word came the deafening pause like a cease of sense and sensory all at once. Each shade and form stammered off with rigid strides yearning for the taste of sweet nectar again. In all of the days that Michael did hold this was the day that set the tone. The standard. This was the everlasting pinnacle in his life that he would remember and long for again. It was over.
Those with the weakest link bleeped and chattered drifted from the colorful embrace into a void of dreary discomfort.
“Take them!” Michael says. “Take them and leave me to my wish and will to wallow in this pool of dreams upon dreams!”
Sun and clouds broke land and light into shards of black speckled ice. Still the silence loomed and Michael turned to accept what was and will be. That was when it happened. The sound of yellow and white was heavenly returning Michael to gaze at the facet forming at the fore.
What once was and sorrowed for now is once more. Grief dissolved with melody and beat and pitch and tone. Michael would taste and feel and live once more. So the chains were undone to open his folds to mold and listen to the sounds of serenity.
