The bitchin’ moon, cold-ass rock hung over the city
where the shadows held secrets, the forbidden…She
stepped closer, her scent of asphalt and smoke. Her
fingers, traced the line of his jaw, and entered his
maw where his pulse wouldn’t thaw in proximity. As
her breath fell on his erection and the mumbly peg
rituals.
“What brings you the rock,” she whispered, rubbing
his bone and grasping his stones. Her tongue arching
against his mind’s lobotomy, where the crawdads have
wings. I want to taste you and suck tail, lapping at
her shadow beneath the bitchin’ moon touching the
wetness of her mumbly peg rituals meeting his thrusts
moving in tango cheek to cheek against his body.









I love the noir intensity in this piece. Still surprisingly not as dark as others you’ve written, lol.
Like I have said, the dark is my soufflé.