Black moon, by definition, is the period when the Moon appears so close to the Sun in the sky that it cannot be seen even near sunset or sunrise. Depending on how close the Moon passes to the line between Earth and Sun, dark moon may last between 1.5 to 3.5 days.
In other words, a black moon spans longer than a regular moon cycle would, bringing an "eternal night."
She is beauty and grace in a careful step. She is florid eyes, lavender lips and exotic skin. To behold her is to stand practically agape. She is curvaceous, she is turquoise tattoos and plum kissed eyelids. She is shadow and darkness, a devil cackling behind crimson irises, a gentleness there an angel could not dare compare to.
She is intoxicating, a sorceress, a temptress, but not only by looks does she manage this. Her demanding, domineering, snide personality, her sharp tongue. They pull at the heart and soul as an unbreakable thread. Her hair is a thousand sunsets of striking orange, faded red, brilliant yellow, smoothed together in a flare of embers.
Unbidden, unheld, unrestrained, it flows with the wind just as sparks from a flame. Her cloak is the embodiment of darkness, a slow wave with the breeze. She removes it, and you watch, entirely captivated.
He stands opposite. He is everything she is not; light, warmth, radiance. His hair the color of darkened wheat, though much softer upon soft exploration of careful fingertips. His eyes hold the sky, the embodiment of a proud beast just under the surface.
The beast makes no move to release, however. The one whose skin he hides in is well controlled. He is taught, lean muscle and scars. He is calm, he is waiting, ever watching. Scars map him, camouflage the tan skin, hold close to him as only one can wish to. He is a broad chest and lean muscle; he is the definition of a war torn hero.
He holds the weight of the world upon his shoulders, and yet he allows this woman, this goddess, this princess, this queen to hold them, to draw him closer.
He may feel inferior to her; he is only a farmhand, after all. She is royalty, darkness, shadow, and he light. She confident, sure, experienced, strong willed. She is everything he cannot be.
She may feel inferior to him; this man has been through so much, not only for her sake but everyone else's as well. He has proven himself as a warrior. He is valiant, strong, brave, courageous. He is too good for her.
Yet here, this night, under the cloud-shrouded stars, the two are equals in the eyes of the other, though they may not realize it.
Lips meet and part, tongues slip and breaths quicken. There is no need to hurry, no need to rush.
His fingers bury in her hair, her head tips back, back arches, breath leaves in soft gasps.
She traces his chest, his back, the shallow dip of his spine as he presses into her.
He has driven her mad, made her lose clarity, and she loathes him for it, her nails digging into skin.
She has pushed him in many ways, but none quite as dizzying as this, and the kisses to her throat and collarbone become nips, pulls, the catch of teeth to skin.
They gentle, each afraid to hurt the other. Both have already suffered enough hurt.
He wishes to be closer, even as they are as close as they can get, locked in a dance the two of them can only know with each other.
She wants them to be inseparable, to be one, never to part again. She tries to make it so as her arms snare around his middle.
She claims his mouth with her own.
He exhales her name against lilac lips.
Skin on skin, flesh to flesh, light to dark.
Here, they are not so different.