Redsand Canyon prüfstein

“Was für eine schöene nacht, nicht wahr?”  came the wreathed wisp of mondmädchen;
she, whose painter’s eye had wished for her to have gathered her earthly figure to where she presently lie, strewn as languorous starlet to piano top with sugary-fair arms wended and reaching to sketch themselves absently along ebony and ivory keys. Looks upon this man, prowling for skirts to hitch and long legs to hike; smiles, goblintooth;
she thinks of him when she’s licking purply jam from her palms, or when she’s done the last of her dishes and yet some suds remain. Even, perhaps, he dribbles into her musings before shut-eye, droopy-eyed. But she looks at him now in the way one might take study of a previous indulgence  –  looks at this man that she thinks she once loved, loved with misted eyes and nails blunting into skin into sheets spit-thick with her crying so soft for him.

Once upon a time, she might have let him kiss still her ruined back and to press it to the hard molding of hammer-hands in his pleasure.

Jelly. Dishwater.  “Mahler.”  Looking, looking! lips parting.

Dimpling, now, in a heady, rabbitsoft way; a wicked and little whimsical way; an eve-flushed and faraway way. Hears the goldhot stars and grumbling of gouache moon; bares her embellished throat to both.