With skin stretched taut as if a drum, she dances, and the beat rides through her and initiates a sordid dalliance with the floor.
There is action. Glands of the hyperactive. Chemicals pouring from her into the air.
My nostrils flare and gusts of smoke dart out as if from a pissed off bull.
I look at her and see summer and its complete disregard for clothing.
I see her pulse like a beacon in the air to prevent plane collisions.
She dances and my eyes are focused. Pilots are ejecting and airplanes are streaming to the ground like birds made of fire.
Under my skin, everything writhes and then falls away.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
When once it falls, we become crushed by its grace and fall prey to its brilliancy. A collection of sudden and automatic fiction.
About Me
No comments:
Post a Comment