They drift through the storm holding nothing but a straw of belief. The gods blazes them with fire, with lightening. With snow… & all that shelters them lies within the hide of one another. This instance is measured in
Seconds of tingles.
Minutes of shudders.
Hours of unity. Days of..
Energy they share. Today…Everyday till eternity warps. “Its purgatory baby” and constant curses does not fade. Transfigured it maybe. A continuous ripple in the sea of indulgences.
The foul air of uncertainty and doubt. The hesitation that defines the magnetism between their thoughts, and the moment there is a fleeting thought of content , the polarity changes.
The infernal fire that rages within, burning them both to a crisp and rising them above the lithosphere of mortality and its moral bondage.
The tears of bliss, the appetizer for a beast and the offering to the gods. Where even a divine intervention is not enough to separate them both.
Let them have a gentle dialogue their astral projections be their lips and telepathy their words. As he calls upon every knot he ties and every other he cuts. The later more ominous and fervent than the former, over the passage of time and diverted interests.