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Mine is a soul whose brand is written in velvet words, shimmering, a baited lure. Mine is the beauty of rainbow oil slicks and the eyes of bats whose smiles are fang-crooked. Death in grace, coup-de-grace and terror tingling. I am the ash stain of your dull gray spirit now lacking pearlescent purity, drifting in the atmosphere, barred from entering a too crowded heaven. Mine is the shiver and pull of your groin as images of what you should not have done play against ecstasy lowered eyelids.  Mine is the oldest part of this universe pervasive and elusive as the smell of purple jasmine. Don’t worry, I remain, waiting to wrap my arms around you when the light of your life extinguishes even if you aren’t ready, especially then. When I reach from the depths of the abyss, with long, tapered fingers you will forget that this was not what you wanted. This is mine to relish and mine to promise.


Inspired by Trifecta’s word of the week: BRAND (noun)

3a (1) : a mark made by burning with a hot iron to attest manufacture or quality or to designate ownership 
     (2) : a printed mark made for similar purposes : trademark
b (1) : a mark put on criminals with a hot iron 

     (2) : a mark of disgrace : stigma <the brand of poverty>