His breath felt hot in my hand,
I could see the beads of condensation form at the end of his whiskers
Velvet nose probing the creases of my hand for any token morsel.
Sun coming up, dew clinging desperately to the hazy morning grasses.
Slick, cooling blood swiped like a paint swatch down the center of his nose.
Bright red, darkened to a sheen of purple by his black fur.
He'd be covered in my sudden compulsion but I couldn't resist the romance of the sight.
"It's okay now." I calmly whispered, fingers running down the cascade of mane.
We were your dark horses
Kept in the stable smelling of sweet hay and acerbic intentions.
Daisies in our hair
Head resting on his neck by the withers in the warm summer sun.
You loved us, you said, as you cracked my head against the peeling barn walls
But only beautiful things belonged in your stable.
Fingernails pulling at the rust colored paint
As I laid at the feet of 2x4s and mercy.
Your hands were hot ice on my neck
Vices of iron.
Blackness tainting the soft evening light poking through the rafters at the corners of my vision.
No one heard when I screamed for the hundreth time.
Plunging it deep.
Ruining my daisy chain.
But no one heard you either.
You never saw it coming
When the tables turned and sunk into you.
It's funny how we so quickly forget our betrayals when the delicate razor sharpness slides
Through the layers of skin and lies.
Shame on you.
There wasn't much that I asked of you.
And then I watched you die.
Shuddering and clawing at my arms.
The streaks painting an elaborately simple contemporary piece.
"Shhhh," I whispered, tracing my pointer finger over your lips
Just like you did when I cried.
Holding hands at the hilt.
It was nearly morning.
Nickering and nuzzling me, breath hitching, disconnected fingers at my side
Liquid consciousness spilling between dirtied nails.
Dark chocolate eyes and
Head bowing to meet me as I sunk to the ground.
I made sure it was in our daisies.
Because beautiful things don't belong in stables.