Dragoncrest Cliffs angels in tibet

the girl formed a hard squint towards the familiar rum-brown voice that matched the cant of the lapping waves, who were presently lapping her ankles with condemnatory.

she’d let Her tire herself out before taking a skinny dip anytime soon …

the riffs of the obsidian’s accent bouncing off the saltrock tore her back to beneath tamarind trees, fruit pulp, and bloated whales.

“èske sa a ap konnen pawòl fanm lanmè? sure sounds like it!”

her pelage was cast in disarray, as if linearly polarized. sea-froth crackled on her skin like brittle cassava, she shook her pelt and pursed her lip.

her stance was unassuming, pinning her ears to her head with a disposition to charm.

the rayleigh scattering of her eye meets the obsidian once a non-slippery step found purchase.

she trills, “sapphique? an’ w’at dat be?”