TODAY’S BREW: Vanilla something or other. Lots of it. It’s 4 in the morning.
We are beyond lucky to have a friend like Chynna Blue Scott, and you are beyond lucky to read the poetry of her words. Prepare to be sexified. Follow her @jordonchynna on twitter. Now read.
If you touched her, she’d burn you.
Her skin runs white-hot, eyes the twin candle flames flickering in the darkness when lovers have long succumbed to slumber. Her golden glow illuminates limbs entwined in simmering remembrance. The fiery light of the living lovers, she scorches without mercy.
She is the smoke, molten-grey tendrils that cascade over ruby lips; the amber glow of the cigarette, crumbling to heated ash. Her hair the stark flash of scarlet against a black backdrop, crackling snapdragon burn in velvet shadows. Sparking, shimmering nails that would rend you in twain beckon; soft feathers of phoenix down that bring sharp, sweet pain. Her name is Hellfire, Destroyer of Pompeii, Daughter of the burning Sun. She is fire, vigour, passion – a pulsing heart that ignites a scalding fever. Like encroaching shadows, she devours.
He is frozen, untouched by time in frigid silence. Ice-cold indifference that burns blue-cold, his Medusa-gaze captures with glacial intent. When he speaks, winds rush over the moors, razing grass and shifting clouds. His steps the echoes in an empty tomb, his skin the bone-white of death. He is the Creator of Snow-White’s Coffin, the guardian of long-dead lovers, and his frozen heart is touched by none but the brightest flame.
Where fire dances, impatient, he is silent – slow, inevitable. Paralysing breath brings senseless sleep, a numbness of such crystalline perfection it captures the essence of a moment. He is painstaking in his preservation, whilst red destroys and crumbles…
…And their kiss consumes. Scalding lips turn ice kisses to heady steam, the grasp of frigid hands blackens dancing flame. Skin seethes at the contact, excruciating loveliness that burns away the ground beneath. He freezes her serene smile, his heavy burdens consumed by her irrepressible heat. Self-made reflections glow like autumn. And the lovers dance a dance of fire and ice, both black shadows, both white lights.
For when the watchers of lovers give in, their frostbitten fire turns the world to ash.