…hearing the wind blow, my fingers deep in my ink’s enebration as my muse stroked the tip of my tongue with her clitoris tracing the edge of my lower lip like a metronome keeping time on my chinny-chin-chin, barefootin’ in silence, between the ehoes and insanity, soft moans at her pleasure…pulling my head back as she whispered…”write it down.” Feeling the cold peeling flesh of her thighs, carrion for my eyes. Her cunt spawing and new verse.








