Winds thrash, howling a wanting song that wraps about her head, playing chaos in a spiraling fugue about her body, robbing her of all modesty, silhouetted skeletons backlit by western sky downing, shiver the timbre mimicking the sensations running her spine, a blushing moon in full, ascends in metered time with the descent to her knees, her eyes the star flecked abysm, beholding his advancing darkness, the lipstories he spun from rising action through climax to resolution, fuse their mouths with flame and sin, their hands running curves and dips, as planchettes giving voice to desires and devilry, giving into dysequilibrium and pleasure

E. A. O'Connell. January 29, 2021.