Jo.Na.I can smell brimstone on you and it coats my tongue. You are smooth and hang heavy in the air.My lungs open slow and wide to let in your exhaust. Veins swell to be a part of whats new. I am high in your presence. I lay limp and waiting. I wince with imagination. The heat melts my weathered skin and I am pink again.
Mounted Fight FlightStrokedthe chest muscles of creatures that can not be taken downMightiness meets the moonSoothed and swooned are bothStruck profound and tucked down by like kindsThe Kin copped and mussedtheir heart-shaped shells with radiating ribsThe Hair of the Dogand bite of the beast decreasedsways of their large craniumshear things in the distanceand lumber uplumbars eruptMigrating Monstersrape-shaped and unplanneda most natural means a most saving grace.
Nice textures, your brush strokes and the thickness of your pain adds so much to the image. I really like this.
Don't be surprised if your quote leads to a poem, mah dear!
Pain WORKED!!
But I gotcha.