Jagged Scar in time

Whispers of baritone pungent rasp submerge my earlobes in him, the sweet scents of almond and Shea on the middle most part of my septum, his essence marking me. _________________________________________________
 
This was a warrior's reprieve, he was a muse from the Gods with a jagged scar in his left eyebrow.
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The sounds of cicadas and the buzz of bees zipping by made me feel depersonalizaton, my body against the red Georgia dirt blending in like I was Earth, dust and mud swirling around alabaster structures, clay dolls breathing life into each other, small speckles of the universe that were given luminosity. _________________________________________________
 
His kisses tempestuous, rose gold lips that softly seduce succulently / then a bite like this realm where we laid was primal, the trees grew like lost sentinels, the lagoon wasn't black but teal with almost pearlescent magical smelling magnolias in bloom.
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 Masculine vulnerability isn't a concept, but real with blood and muscles and capillaries and cartilage and tattoos, a jagged scar cutting diagonally down his left eyebrow. Mines, mines, mines, mines, mines, mines, mines, my lost anchor.
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He was a mercenary defining life through war, jagged edges like broken trees lined his silhouette. I was soft, a bank of a small upstate New York stream, hurdling to the Hudson. Slow, slow, slow, we divined the magic to stop time through our kisses. Chronokinesis.