the Shadows, enslaved eternally, jeer dull stigmas and roar glorified lies through which diminishing their angst comes to no avail; the Shadows bathe in salty puddles against sheets
pulsing flames churn streams of ignited honey, as grey fumes- of burnt aromas - beckon nicotine clouds and lukewarm breaths to embark in a dilatory tango; hardly coordinating with the strummed instrumental that lulls the snow to sleep.
jagged lines as though a child created then in crayon. bold, beaming thunder strikes. their fingertips trace dips and peaks, until they engulf pale skin. until the pink matches her cheeks. until they match those of the tigers, zebras, okapis.