emergency-fan-51

"There we go," she said, sitting up again. "All finished." She looked over her work in the space between his shoulder blades, running the length of his spine. It was more like a tattoo than scratches, the series of words she had carved into him this time around. They were from something she had written previously, something he had yet to read. Her companion gave a long and relaxed-sounding yawn, crossing his arms under his chin as he rested in her lap. She examined her labors for the umpteenth time. His form is made of something beautiful That got left out in the rain. Something too heavy to reach the sky But still too light to sin