They fell under a tree together, all peaceful and sweet like angels, with grass getting into their clothes. They were lying on their backs, eyes dipping into the sky. There was nothing that could bust their wings; the harp strings couldn't be broken, solid like gold and sparkling.
And they lied there, with their elbows intertwined and their mouths all doctored into grins-the sides of their lips pushing into the centers of their cheeks.
Now they had dreams together. A pretty home that neither of them had. Kids with chipped smiles and missing baby teeth. Sitting on the porch, old and grey and happy with the world furled out before them, like a thousand mile long rug unrolling forever. They owned this universe. Almost like a snow globe they could shake up at any given time.
And they would have it-because they were swollen with love. Cupid knocked them silly. So they dreamed their dreams with eyes wide open and chests swelling up into ribs.
Priscilla and her Dorian Grey.
Then she leaned over, and she kissed his cheek, marking it with a lip stain. So he turned and smiled to her, and kissed her cheek back. And they were so damn pretty together.
The picture had never been any clearer.
