Creaturely

Rough hands upon her, not near, there, or where, nor the seashell tip of a fingering care or other lack-lustering lapping's but the groundless clubfooted grasping of long incoherent passions. A clinker of desire hammered anew by the forceful hands of mist shrouded Nibelungen; a dross now forged bright into red-eyed gleams of flame. She who bears the weight of such a slobber-lipped changeling covers his paws with a tracery of spidery entanglements the softest spell-binding webs that break his knuckles; refining hot bones into phantom kisses. For her satisfaction (and hers alone), she captures that clumping stray caging him deep, and he left with no hands but hers.