and so, Admodeus passes a sweet
from his lips to hers and she
hungers for his limbs with a thirst
in her throat born of the desert, those
barren moonlit nights her body
was silvered over and the
peacocks screeched in the
zoological gardens and she
longed again for that thrust
and retreating from her, the
taste of his mouth, hard upon
hers, the bristle of his hair,
hell-singed, his eyes blackly
staring upon her whiteness, those
pillars of ivory borne down
upon to the breaking point and
then, the shattering of the
sky, broken so by his laughter
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