a sibilated soul swiftly flung from two lips embowed, intended to access the
essence of its recipient and grasp on so tightly that when it is recoiled , the
unsettled reviler removes a shred. Now inadequate and left immature, the undone
immortal lashes out with irrelevance of consequence. It recaptures what was once
lost, only now to find that it has gained a piece of its opposer, It is unconscious
of the effectiveness of its actions but even now whole again, the affliction
abides.
Categories:
embowed, imagination, on writing and
Form: I do not know?