(from the pages of Utility Fish Erotica) Raindrops

raindrops.

tiny pinpricks on slate grey concrete.

raindrops.

lepoard skin spots that fall soft and dark onto pale grey slabs.

raindrops.

that cover the pavement like desire, like shadow.

shadows.

that flicker and fade and lick the walls with tongues of shade that dance like shifting veils.

above her the ceiling fan rotates a lofty breeze that drifts down humble and soft and kisses her skin with a promise of chill air.

shadows.

that rise and fall, rise and fall like the claws of ancient gods or the boughs of banished trees or the fingers of specteral lovers.

fingers.

that haunt her mind in vague whispers.

the sultry heat confines her movements to languid stretches and holds her lust in supine relief.

naked and salacious she curls her lightly sweat covered frame around her hand and squeezes it between her amorous thighs like a victim of a constrictor.

the fan throbs a tuneless rythm, a pulsing ache that beats a singular motif of nebbish tepidity.

hypnotic.

it calls to her.

in sounds of sultry saxaphone blues.

it calls to her.

and with thighs spreading like lotus blosom she receives the thief of her fingers that steal in snake like stages down her belly and through the grove of her lurid growth.

raindrops grow.

and over the mound of her pensive vulva that tingles with urgent expectancy her hand slides into dark contours and her thumb trails a pink fold.

shadows rise.

and she peels the fruit of her self with a delicate prising and with urgent probes releases the winged demons to burn her with carnal avividty that ravish her being.

the blade throbs. the raindrops fall.

a sweet scent of orchids from bruised lips.




words by cocaine jesus