The fingers of dark creep over the horizon, clawing at the dimming sun, swallowing the sky, consuming the light, and turning them over to His darkness. Laying down, crushing soft flower petals, were a slink of arms, and a tangle of hair, adorning nothing but bare skin, shielded and hidden by the long stems of grass. The leaves were covering them, leaving them in the shadows of their own world. Their lips were searing lava, burning down their throats. Her fingers were in his dark hair, and his hands were at the soft flesh of her back, her eyes explored every surface of his porcelain skin, as his were encaved in the darkness of his eyelids.
She clawed at his back, and he held her dearly, buckled and sighed. Nothing could have been more magical than at the dawn of twilight, that they have made love, created love, and was loved by a lover.
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