Posted on June 6, 2014 at 05:13:45 PM by MIDAS
STARING AT THE BOTTOM OF YOUR GLASS
hoping one day you'll make a dream last
BUT DREAMS COME SLOW AND THEY GO SO FAST
The scent of fish and sea leak in waves into unassuming nostrils. Fine sand begins to collect in the cavities of his wet body. They land in the crevices of his nose, ears, and mouth. Chocolate jaw relaxes. The ocean lullaby urges him to sleep. The jungle sounds coo lovingly to him. Eyelids rest softly over orbs of gold. A velvet ear lilts easily forward and the other listens to the tide behind.
The water comforts his aching legs. The pebbly beach jabs into his skin, but the golden stallion doesn’t mind. The sun dries his damp coat. The sound of rocks and a low whinny pull him from the lazy daze. He smiles; even before eyes open he knows it is his Pearl. Midas lifts his head to watch her come, nickering his response. He does not get up yet; his legs are still weary from the swim. As Sylvia nears, Midas’s heart lifts, the troubles of the past few months lift off of his chest. She has the ability to make him forget his worries. She was one of his first mares, his lasting love, and his queen. The soft caress of her whiskers against his forehead send a shudder through his body.
“Ah?” He speaks, turning a muscled neck to survey the mark. “Oh, this is nothing. Don’t worry about my love. Just a scrape.” Tossing his mane he turns back to Sylvia. With a wink, and a smirk he teases, “Takes a lot more than that to keep me down.”
As he follows her body language, his eyes fall upon their son, “Elliot.” A low whisper ushers from chocolate maw. In most instances, Midas is prone to hate children, or at the very least, be very afraid of them. But this time, instead of wild emotions, he feels nothing but warmth. Perhaps it is the soft breath of Sylvia above him, or fatigue that makes the gold feel different, but in any case, it is a good thing for the foal.
“Elliot, my boy, come here.” Midas says with bob of his chiseled head. He leans his chocolate nose out amicably. With a spark in his eye, he looks up to Sylvia, “He stands like a king already.” A chuckle emerges as his lips playfully ruffle the boy’s stubby, black fluff. There will be time to get to know this boy, to raise him properly, he might be Midas’s successor even, but that would be up to Elliot. Midas was here now, and for the moment, he has no intentions of going anywhere.
The water comforts his aching legs. The pebbly beach jabs into his skin, but the golden stallion doesn’t mind. The sun dries his damp coat. The sound of rocks and a low whinny pull him from the lazy daze. He smiles; even before eyes open he knows it is his Pearl. Midas lifts his head to watch her come, nickering his response. He does not get up yet; his legs are still weary from the swim. As Sylvia nears, Midas’s heart lifts, the troubles of the past few months lift off of his chest. She has the ability to make him forget his worries. She was one of his first mares, his lasting love, and his queen. The soft caress of her whiskers against his forehead send a shudder through his body.
“Ah?” He speaks, turning a muscled neck to survey the mark. “Oh, this is nothing. Don’t worry about my love. Just a scrape.” Tossing his mane he turns back to Sylvia. With a wink, and a smirk he teases, “Takes a lot more than that to keep me down.”
As he follows her body language, his eyes fall upon their son, “Elliot.” A low whisper ushers from chocolate maw. In most instances, Midas is prone to hate children, or at the very least, be very afraid of them. But this time, instead of wild emotions, he feels nothing but warmth. Perhaps it is the soft breath of Sylvia above him, or fatigue that makes the gold feel different, but in any case, it is a good thing for the foal.
“Elliot, my boy, come here.” Midas says with bob of his chiseled head. He leans his chocolate nose out amicably. With a spark in his eye, he looks up to Sylvia, “He stands like a king already.” A chuckle emerges as his lips playfully ruffle the boy’s stubby, black fluff. There will be time to get to know this boy, to raise him properly, he might be Midas’s successor even, but that would be up to Elliot. Midas was here now, and for the moment, he has no intentions of going anywhere.
MIDAS
everything you love surely dies
everything you love surely dies