Though idle air filtered boundless lands in slimy thongs mumbling brandished the outcrop. "Below, where we all fall if we're not careful, listen: Not to mount these rough, scaled organs, offspringing serpents, but take me. Dearie! The old-time love-joints, remember, ravishing? Unravel this vacuum. These huge silent estates. Quick, now that we're running out of cups: Tarry flesh and foul blot these years. I'm asking the favor of enjoyment, trapped and bloodless, though violently." So the wounds stopped, convinced. Cease-fire. The up-hill way home, steep and indecisive, edged in night, pitched and failed. To eager an instant, she slipped and drained off. Yields to air, a second time, her transparencies and openings marvelous, she left. He cultivated This rock garden.
From Paramour by Stacy Doris. Copyright © 2000 by Stacy Doris. Published by Krupskaya Books. Used by permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.