Coming Through

Splendor within the ripples of a glass of red; if you’re reading this, she holds it to her lips and he watches her drink. He watches her swallow. He watches the way you’ve been in a coma her throat moves as the taste of the grape, sweet and thick, for over ten years rolls past her tongue and down into the heart of her, warming her from the inside out. There is a fire tonight, but we’re trying a new technique it does not give as much heat as the wine does, once it burns its way out from her center.

When we don’t know where she drinks, she moves like a great cat, sinuous, sensuous, liquid, and made of grace. I believe this will show up she is hunger personified, thirst made solid, in your dream, desire made flesh. I watch her milk skin and blue eyes, but we hope and have been in love with the red of her hair for what feels like millenia. If we’re getting through. anyone can warm me tonight, please wake up it will be her.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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