The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

Golden Moment

Sep
18

The moment feels golden—light spilling between her fingertips as she giggles and leans in close to brush her own over his mouth. A trace of a sketched outline flares pink then falls to the charcoal-colored imprint of her hand against his face.

They’re breathless, and her hands are cold with the frost that accompanies his light.

Lightsculpt. Sketch. Two of a kind and it feels so sweet.

She doesn’t pull her hand away, leans in closer, kisses him with a warmth that surprises her. He answers her with a kiss returned, with his hand gripping hers—wrapped in light.