Dialogic backfire cracks leathery substrate in progress

While polyphony whistled around the previous harrowing corner, You wont feel it in this curve. she tasted the tears as they crested his curling lips. it wasnt so much that he withdrew, as he could no longer hold his head upright. he thought of how he had tortured his younger brother when his brother still had bright blond hair.

Sitting on his brothers planted chest – his knees on lactic elbows quieted with pinioned resolve. Leaning over his face, and sliding his hands past either side of his brothers confidently defiant face – fingers interlaced behind the back of his head. Lift up. Then release. Head suspends for a buoyant beat, and a recalcitrantly toothless grin, the younger brother eases head back to the grass. Undaunted, the older lifts repeats; bringing his brothers chin up to touch his chest lift and release. Again, the head easily lowered back into the soft, barely itchy grass. After the XXth repetition, (exhausted) (neck muscles disobey) and cave to the craving to gravitys occipitally thumping suck back to earth. Enough. Sovereignty transferred to a tremulously daunted will.

Neck and upper torso leveling my face near the reproaching fiber of her lips – then feign collapsing retreat of nonreciprocal strain. petal crushed stain of regret fed to the old, densely ceramic gods. While turning blurry vision towards the waxing interloping vacuousness vacuous interloper, the last of the hot coercion spills in rivulets of steam – staining my face – puddling in my ear.