Notes: this is some random piece of ...randomness really. I have little idea where it began or where it ended up, I merely wrote it !

"There is no turning back from this unending path of mine
Serpentine and black it stands before my eyes
To hell and back it will lead me once more
It's all I have as I stumble in and out of grace
I walk through the gardens of dying light
And cross all the rivers deep and dark as the night"

HIM: 'The Path'

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You look at me. I look back. Your eyes flick down to my lips and all I can do is sit paralysed, waiting. I can feel your hot breath against my lips. You are close enough to taste yet you continue to move closer. Your tongue flicks ever so slightly out over your bottom lip, tasting me on the air like a snake senses its prey.

A breeze whispers gently through the hanging branches of the blossoming tree beside us. The sun is setting slowly somewhere behind us and the light perfume of iris's hangs in the air. My breath comes in shallow pants, you are too close. I don't know whether to you push away or beg you to fall just that little bit closer.

Your fingers brush strands of my blond hair from my face and your eyes flutter closed. With the lightest of movements your lips brush over mine, pulling away before the gesture can be reciprocated.

I close my eyes tight, willingly loosing myself in the moment as I bring my hands to either side of your face. I pull your lips back against mine, crushing and desperate. Your tongue glides slowly over my bottom lip until I open my mouth with a low moan. I take a few steps backwards when you push me towards the tree trunk.

I feel the bark catching on the back of my robes at the same moment I feel your mouth move to my neck. Your teeth affix themselves to my pale skin, sucking and bruising it. I shiver when your tongue laps over the mark, as if apologising for your ferocity.

I tangle my fingers through the mess you call hair and drag your face back up to mine. I hold you there, nose to nose as you steady yourself by placing your hands on either side of my head on the bark. I watch as your bright green eyes sweep over my face.

You drop your lips back onto mine, your entire body following. I flick my tongue over your bottom lip, urging you to deepen the contact. Your tongue snakes slowly from between your parted lips, twining with my own as my grip on your hair tightens. Somewhere in the haze we have found ourselves lost in I become dimly aware of the darkness closing in around us.

You pull from the kiss, face turning to the dying orange glow. I stare at you, memorising the contours of your face as you complacently gaze at the horizon.

"That would be my exit cue..." You don't even look at me as you say this. My head drops in a resolved nod, every part of my being is screaming for me to tell you, beg you to stay.

I almost give into the temptation when my left forearm begins to burn. You look round at my hiss of pain, placing a gentle lingering kiss on my cheek before stepping backwards. There was almost a flicker of sorrow in your eyes as I push myself from the tree and throw up the black hood of my robes.

"We both have places to be." I state, although blatantly obvious. It is your turn to nod as you turn to walk away.

"Maybe I'll see you later..." Hope, I know it well although I myself am not personally acquainted with the concept. For this one time I will let you hold your optimism and reply simply.

"Maybe..."

We stand for what could be the longest (and last) time, looking at each other. There is nothing you can say to make me change my mind just as there is nothing I can say to make this easier for you.

You are you and I am me: we both have people we need to be.

I turn on my heel in a billow of robes as I slide on my white mask and walk away. Beneath the constrictions my breath comes back at me, warming my face and enhancing the sensation of claustrophobia.

I can taste you on my lips and tongue, I can smell you on my skin but it wasn't meant to be. If it is then you will find me, bloodied and defeated and awaiting incarceration.

It is a great shame that my blood-ties will not allow me to tell you how I wish it could be different and how there's something more in my chest than the supposed heart of black.

The pretence makes it easier: easier to walk away, easier to bear my mark, easier for you to kill me when we meet again on a field of broken bodies.

I come over the brow of a hill and see hordes of black figures with white faces. It is now I truly know that it is over, for me that is: you will triumph, there is no doubt about it in my mind.

What a pity then, that my pride wouldn't let me admit the fact that I will sorely miss you when I'm gone.