i. a soft light from within: hiding in his smile, running in the rivers of his eyes. his hair is dark like sleep, like endless quiet; his fingers are careful and his kiss tastes like the hush of a church on a holy morning. i swear his bones glow with the weight of his silent spring-morning glory.
ii. his scabbed knees and his broken bones only spill the light out where i can see it. each bruise is a sunrise; each cut is a candlelight; each tear is a sparkling pearl on the end of his nose, fragile like divinity. in agony he breathes his blooms into my lungs, where they root and flower. now i am flourishing and now he is barren and the sun always goes down, the light always ebbs away like the tide, nothing you keep in the palms of your hands will stay golden.
iii. his blood is beautiful like nostalgia, like ambrosia, shining from within like the darkest, purest honey you could find. his blood is beautiful, so i make him bleed.
— beauty // abby, day 191 // prompt for @dreamers-inc