Doc Martens & Paper Salamanders
“Some creatures never grow lungs; they breathe through their skin.” — Wysteria
A morning of shards—
Fragments from a shattered night.
Self acceptance and lupine regrets,
Smoothing the ruffled coat.
Gentile nature returned,
A simple day of prayer, work and walks.
A sound wave on the horizon,
Coming with the rising sun
from where sound is born,
that place deep in the heart.
YES on her mind,
Fragile in her heart,
corset of strength binding her soul,
Doc Martens like thunder under silk.
A coy wildness brewed in him
pouring out as: Take me with you.
Not in body, not in trespass—
The little paper version of him,
As 2 dimensional as his reality,
But meaning as full as his heart.
Made whole in a quiet way,
“I’m taking you.
On the way to supper.”
Duke rattled the windows and the wind,
and he felt it through his skin—
a salamander remembering
that breath is not always an act of lungs.
Drawing the incredibly bright creature
in thick black boots,
he laughed at himself,
turned up Magnification.
to excite the soul.
He wasn’t alone;
a golden thread hummed between them—
no leash, or chain,
a living pulse stretching across miles,
across songs,
through time and
across all that had hurt before.
And somewhere under the lights,
she swayed to the old music,
and he breathed through the page
folding and unfolding in time
both of them alive in the same rhythm—
better with each other,
even from afar.
2025-10-17 13:25:54
#story # journal #poetry #wyst #poetry #100daystooffset #writing #story #osxs #travel
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