“my eyes are only for you,” vox whispered between silky sheets that lingered of vanilla and whiskey.

your fingers picked at his, for your gaze strayed away from his loving stare — you felt your cheeks heat and a smile tug at your lips — god, you hated when he decided to become a poet. “you flatter me, save your words for an overlord who’s worth the fragment of time.”

“you are more than time itself,” he argued. vox pushed himself up to sit, as he grasped for your hand then kissed your palm. “better than any lord — you place lilith to shame.”