With purple-violet velvet eyes her skin was stroked as she danced with my shadow. Fire lit our silhouettes as our gentle slow dance flowed in and out of our forms. I who smelt of the storms and thunder I was born from, her who smelt like the smoky fires she camped by, their tendrils carving minute tattoos into her skin. Although the cacophony of humankind was all around us our dance was suspended above all, loose red lengths of hair tying her to me; a tornado and a volcano? There was no need for any undertone, simply bonded souls learning who worked how, taking it slow, laughing, sleeping, and reveling in the simple act of skin contact betwee