Bells

Published by Lucas Dale on

Bells peal from the town. Their sound pounds through the trees, explodes down the river, but it doesn’t reach here. The air is sweet, a delicious silence, and she gulps it down. The scent of leaf mould rides the wind and birdsong pricks her ears. In and out. Her breathing stills. She is at peace.

They look for her. They will never find her.

She strokes the bark of my trees and the stone of my skin, her mouth parted in wonder. Her touch sends shivers through the earth. So gentle. So delicate. Sunlight dances through the leaves and dapples her hair in gold. Beautiful. She lays next to me, her fingers in my grass.

They look for her. They will never find her.

She is naked. Dew glistens on her skin and trickles down the valleys of her breasts, oh so sweet. Her skin is the softest touch of snow; her eyes are stars in an endless twilight. Her thighs slide apart and nectar drips from her flower. She is mine.

She is a goddess and I am her slave. I do anything she asks. I am all her heat commands.

They look for her. They will never find her.

Men come with their beasts and iron, fire burning in their fury. The forest runs from them but I do not cower. They have no power here.

They look for her. They will never find her.

She rests in me, her bones in the dirt of my womb. Still beautiful, even now. Even so long ago. Seasons storm by, the word ever-changing, but she is safe here. She is safe with me.

They look for her. They will never find her.

They look for me. I am already there.


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