THEY (Part III)

by Marlon Thierry Laurent Fink. Posted in Text

Under any circumstance, Reginald could not resist dreaming up an epiphany in the lands of clouds and purest air, which could be like nothing, in particular, belonging to his angel and its brothers and sisters. Obviously, where in a dream-like scene Reginald posed a pressing question – How and when, is it possible for me, then, to become of my previous state, a human, who I were – so, so inane? In their beloved secret territories, then, was a young man’s fate composed by as brute as unsightly a feint destined to be no longer constrained of having no hands, no knees and no face.
A prerequisite for being redeemed from being a frog, descendent of the streams, that seemed to have found love, in a girl who is being so keen, Reginald, You have to end the regime that the brother of yours imposes like a tyrant on his followers by taking him down – single-handedly. Devour his heart, as black as hell never was seen and make peace be prevailing in order to become king who soon then marries his beloved queen.
Precious love, sweet caress; Zoë intertwining with her new lover – of blood and flesh at last – like two enticing flowers making love in dew-scented beds of grass. Then, becoming branches of trees, in stroking motions their hands as serene as floating leaves, swayed by as soft a breeze as the other’s exhaling pleas to be lovingly relieved of longings as thick as their former grief, their snuggling bodies finally embody what evilly was kept away from them for so long – metaphorically.
Their sweat and steam, finally, makes them seem like a part of the sea, coalescing like the highest waves with crests everlasting in shape, appearing there like gently floating logs of trees, with expressions on their faces like most astounding mountains’ capes, tied together like two broken, but mended fates, making love forever like lost in time and space. In longitude not measurable, but estimated by its weight, their love started to evolve by evading every single place with their ever so passionate embrace.
Too many nights by so many miles, in separation still, their longing grows, certainly, close to insanity, like not being most feverishly ill but more like an affection that chills and thrills. Reginald, in preparation to kill his evil twin, plotting against him, by his own will, writes six letters in one day. It is as if he is right besides her, reading aloud those confessions – emotionally charged – and breathes those lush words lustily into her small ears, transmitting his passion towards her like his hand on her heart.
You, like inspiration so subtle, make me explode in brightest colors but quietly saturated on every each of these sheets, made out of brothers that crackle in the winds, I write to you – you are the greatest of my sins. Memories, consisting out of soft and joyous grins, encircle me like as if inhaling your tears in order to drop them most gently into a lake, to see you floating in the waters I am able to produce only for your sake.
Splashing around, splashing around I feel like one of those tiniest waves collapsing on your breasts, your neck and chin, your heart and your waist. I am about to fulfill what I have agreed to, I will dedicate my attention then again to you. In love, forever scorched like the tallest candle lit by you, I will be brave and come back soon.

fin.