Post by Eurydice on Jun 17, 2007 22:07:32 GMT -5
((Haven’t played with the Parry-Lansalius ‘ship in a while, but after all the crap that poor Jo’s been through in her recent bouts of RP (*blows kisses at DK ;D*), I feel like she deserves a break.
Set mid-November, 1868. Very, very unfinished; not sure how I want to end it.))
In half moments before dawn light, she watches him:
One never caught off-guard, disarmed,
One never showing weakness, at peace,
Lazy, thoughtless curl of chestnut hair
Spilling over the prominent brow,
Shadowing lidded, dark eyes
She wonders what dreams he’s living,
What worry puts that casual pressure
On his furrowed brow, what pleasure
Quirks the edge of his lip into an almost-smile
(He smiles so rarely in wakefulness)
To survey the contours of his face,
The line of his cheek, the pale blush of his lip,
Is to study schematics undecipherable,
To puzzle out an ineffable mystery,
And the machines that she takes apart, puts back together
Every day
Are suddenly utterly inconsequential
In the face of the enigma stretched out next to her
And she’ll never solve this puzzle,
Never unravel the mind of the man
Whose bare skin presses hers.
She’d willingly spend her life trying to do so.
But it can wait.
They’ve all the time in the world.
For now,
She’s content to watch
His eyes easing open and meet hers,
His arm sliding around her shoulders, and
His face bending to hers.
Set mid-November, 1868. Very, very unfinished; not sure how I want to end it.))
In half moments before dawn light, she watches him:
One never caught off-guard, disarmed,
One never showing weakness, at peace,
Lazy, thoughtless curl of chestnut hair
Spilling over the prominent brow,
Shadowing lidded, dark eyes
She wonders what dreams he’s living,
What worry puts that casual pressure
On his furrowed brow, what pleasure
Quirks the edge of his lip into an almost-smile
(He smiles so rarely in wakefulness)
To survey the contours of his face,
The line of his cheek, the pale blush of his lip,
Is to study schematics undecipherable,
To puzzle out an ineffable mystery,
And the machines that she takes apart, puts back together
Every day
Are suddenly utterly inconsequential
In the face of the enigma stretched out next to her
And she’ll never solve this puzzle,
Never unravel the mind of the man
Whose bare skin presses hers.
She’d willingly spend her life trying to do so.
But it can wait.
They’ve all the time in the world.
For now,
She’s content to watch
His eyes easing open and meet hers,
His arm sliding around her shoulders, and
His face bending to hers.