we are golden.
we are golden
gri (jiyong/seungri), pg-13, unbeta'd
an extended metaphor of gold.
jiyong writes crotchets, quavers, musical notes that translate from pencil grey to virtual Gold. it's art in sound, art you can hear.
Gold is something you can touch and feel, he says. you can feel it when the clouds part and make way for the sun. Gold is warm.
hornets shine Golden as they hover over frightened bees, their bright pincers snipping off tiny charcoal heads, their spindly legs searching for sweet, liquid Gold.
you must be king midas, seungri gapes with eyes rounded in exaggeration and jiyong laughs, pinches the younger's reddening cheek and turns back to his work.
(we'll be framed in Gold, printed in Gold, shaped out of
Gold when we become rich and famous enough)
at night, jiyong and seungri hold each other, paint honey-dripping moans in the moonlight (which is silver, which is a decolourized sort of Gold). jiyong presses his kiss-swollen lips to the dark smudges under seungri's sleeping eyes and whispers, "Love."
(i'll write you a song, read out the Golden tadpoles in
my songbook and let it reach your pink-tipped ears as music)
in the morning, seungri parts the curtains and tells jiyong that it's a beautiful, sunny day out.
jiyong looks into the light and sees Dust dancing in gold.
... i have no idea what is going on inside my head
gri (jiyong/seungri), pg-13, unbeta'd
an extended metaphor of gold.
jiyong writes crotchets, quavers, musical notes that translate from pencil grey to virtual Gold. it's art in sound, art you can hear.
Gold is something you can touch and feel, he says. you can feel it when the clouds part and make way for the sun. Gold is warm.
hornets shine Golden as they hover over frightened bees, their bright pincers snipping off tiny charcoal heads, their spindly legs searching for sweet, liquid Gold.
you must be king midas, seungri gapes with eyes rounded in exaggeration and jiyong laughs, pinches the younger's reddening cheek and turns back to his work.
(we'll be framed in Gold, printed in Gold, shaped out of
Gold when we become rich and famous enough)
at night, jiyong and seungri hold each other, paint honey-dripping moans in the moonlight (which is silver, which is a decolourized sort of Gold). jiyong presses his kiss-swollen lips to the dark smudges under seungri's sleeping eyes and whispers, "Love."
(i'll write you a song, read out the Golden tadpoles in
my songbook and let it reach your pink-tipped ears as music)
in the morning, seungri parts the curtains and tells jiyong that it's a beautiful, sunny day out.
jiyong looks into the light and sees Dust dancing in gold.
... i have no idea what is going on inside my head