Months moved on. As they were men, they walked the city streets of London freely.
Beneath Wellington Arch were their whispers wishful, and on every near market street they settled,
Every hillside; their tales were told.
The mornings usually brumous when Vincent and Peter took walks healing wanderlust.
The mellifluous sounds of rain on their rooftop, the petrichor morning after.
Everything was well.
In their stolen Victorian, when the cold poisoned, the emanated warmth of their fireplace cured the illnesses.
Bungalows dappled the London streets they walked. Silhouettes danced in windows.
Elysian clouds would hide the sun for days and in some odd way Vincent and Peter loved it.
The men would sit on each side of the inglenook fireplace and reminisce their adolescent days.
When melancholy gave way through the midwinter. A smile as grand and benevolent as Peter's would cure like water during the dog days.
The men clung onto the vines embedded in their sheets.
Together, both men stitched sage innocence into their mantle.
"Keep me here forever." Said Vincent,
"Neglect every virescent shade of green, forget every duplicitous shade of red."
Spring came shortly after.
The freezing months were over.
Vincent and Peter planted a rose garden in March. Roses didn't bloom until April. The color vermillion only so bright in the month of May.
YOU ARE READING
Scarlet Eyes and Raven Dies
RomanceTwo boys face the challenges of love in their small hometown in England. Peter and Vincent, who are inseparably linked by their love, go through the hardships of having to love someone in secret. "...they were two lost souls who carried daggers in...
