Two souls are resting together in a plane of non-existance. One lightly strokes the other’s soul as they twist and turn with the whisper of the wind. The black moon shines down upon them. The air slithers around their bodies. It looks as though the bodies are drifting on the surface of a sea, unseen by man or beast.
Their eyes never meet but their thoughts are only ever on each other. Their skin is always touching in at least one area. To be without that contact is to be without life itself. What would life matter without the shadow of his death? Quiet? Solitary? Or too loud, too much, too overwhelming with all the needs and wants of the masses.
To lie beneath their black moon together in this nothing world-between-worlds and play with the shadow of his death is the only way to feel anything at all.
~Jayde
Magnetic Fridge Poetry 