Starmeld

Celestial things, space, black and blue and silver and red and gold. A desire for the stars, for an adventure, for going somewhere. Snakes, innuendo, but honest herptological love. Fire, of course. Specifically, a warm candle-flame, a flickering reflection of it in a window-pane at night. Platonic bondage. Trustworthiness. Shining metal and mechanical hums. Visible teeth, a split lip, lipstick just a shade or two darker than the drip from a bloody nose, and a fierce grin. Good, solid hugs. Gossip over lunch. Kindness, cleverness, sass. Jewelry and clothes and attitude worthy of "if you ask the price you can't afford it". Crowns. Bad ideas. Good ideas. Deep, rich synthwave - engines revving redline. Heartbeats, sparks humming, soft breathing of a bedfellow fallen asleep - or the half-awake nonsense conversations of two people awake past sleeping. Casually tugging someone into your lap during a conversation and continuing on like nothing changed. Glowing, neon colours over a black background. Glowing, neon colours in a dimly lit room. Glowing, neon colours on a flickering sign in the window of a shop as you pass down the street with a small group at night, feet pleasantly sore from wandering freely, chattering loudly and laughing without a care since there's nobody else around to hear but the ones you chose. The warmth of being curled up next to another living being.