Two Eyes Cenote levitate

so miseria drank heftily, greedily, all the viscous fluids down away with it, as he kinks in her back seemed to flatten, only her eyes burned wet-hot and her jaw slacked with a similar feeling after chugging as desperately as her body allowed.
the palace could put the kubla khan to shame—supplied with its vaulted hauls and fed by streams of youth.
she could seed herself into the embankment then, there wasn't enough water in the cenote to satiate the indelible food anxiety that hung around her neck like the albatross.
her tongue was soaked with warm meat, not soured and tough like the spoiled fat on a raccoon's carcass like she'd been accustomed too.
she could be bogged down by shame by the way she smudged the rouge of the duck's breast up her neck and down her brow, for now she would pray the benevolent pharaoh would not impound upon her newfound luck.
sordidly, she tears up before she mistakenly takes as the almsgiving woman who lords over this pleasure-dome, "thank you, pharaoh."