LadyLazarus28

his memories are making a glorious mud i. it is a lumberjack's wife whose veins are budding twigs, arms feeble as every dried branch to soak a shining star. it is her who bares such troubled wrists for oven mitts, so ardently delivers her hoggish assembly some hulking bird whose body cavity is crammed tight to the sphincter with a spiced bread. instinctively, she goes for the knife. there is some raucous applause as she serrates its oiled, peppered and flightless skin and on into its succulent chest meat as every spectator dreams of flying. her blade burrows farther in and under enough to dredge up a pinkish marrow, where