Dry tangle of strands like leaves of a pine.
Neck-long sable yet lemon to close a beaming line.
Decked by two sharp wan visage processes.
Shut some-screened eyes and jaw- high and breadthless.
Dangling armor is woven garb of chains.
Bony hands impose his thin scrawny mien.
Spread them down to ignite an incipient
Of electric qeues like sunspot lightning
Toward a floating smooth stone before him.
Struck bouy makes a devious glow as his grin.
Growing fulgence throbbing to explosion
in lieu he is sucked like dusts by the stone.
Categories:
fulgence, adventure, art, imagination, on
Form: I do not know?