Mist crept over the headstones that filled her mouth, coating the dead languages she kept buried there. She bathed in vanilla words borrowed from a lover, but secrets have a way of contaminating porcelain skin. December offered comfort like ice offers warmth to neighbors, but she neglected the nightfall in its soliloquy.
Icicles dripped from your eyelashes, breaking your ebony skin so slightly. I wondered if you could feel it. A growl like glaciers scraping against each other set my teeth on edge. I must remember that I am a lioness. You threw the biting wind at me, tearing at my offensive porcelain skin. I angled my […]
I am a lioness you say. I hunt for my pride, but I look in boxes I had long put up for winter, forgetting it was November. I am a lioness you say. Blood drips from my muzzle as I lope through the herd of blissfully unaware sheep. I am a lioness you say. I dress […]
She thought the winter would keep her warm, that the biting and bitching wind would be but hushed kisses on her neck, and the idiosyncratic flakes of frost would be her shroud. Her eyes spattered the bleak panorama with green and gold reflections of autumn nights on tempestuous swells and breakers, becoming the stars hovering […]