Strong, muscular arms.
Thin, lithe legs.
Laughing, meaningless talk.
Silent, watchful gaze.
Travelling by night, by dawn, by noon.
Life isn't worth living, he said, when you die so soon.
Leave a mark, he would respond, and you'll be remembered.
But he knew his days were numbered.
He didn't want a martyr for a lover.
He had never been one to barter.
Endless tries to keep his angel on the ground.
He started to second-guess himself whenever he was around.
When that final night came he pleaded until dawn.
But the red-eyed did not venture to respond.
They walked together in silence during their final trek.
They shared one last moment, one last peck.
And the raven was gone, caught up in the feathers of his crow.
And the shark put on his usual grin, but it was shallow.
And then came the deathblow.
But he swore.
They were still.
Inseparable.