Lion Head Mesa I'm sorry that I'm misbehaving; I'm your little scarlet, starlet

She reclines though it’s hardly languorous. With madness she puts her defiant body on offer. There is her giddiness, ribs pulsing and sly eyes full of desperation to steal something like another chance, or a life that is with his. She wants hunger to corrupt and he catches her jaw in his, pulling them both down into the earth.

“Is it? Shall I free your hide and wear you over my shoulder?” She smiles and he wrinkles in it, like fat on steamed blood. He imagines his teeth marks on her skin, the scars and his chance to touch them, a mournful romanticism.

She feels emptiness because she feels. Seth only had the vague appearance of these tangible things, a rough imitation. But he always had the mirror, something of his own he carried within him that legend wasn’t ready to become, but he maintained the faith that she one day would. They would meet in that place of reflection, she having arrived late, but coming alone.

His teeth pursue the inside of her wrist.

I will love you better in death.