what is there to say, really? mmmm, apparenlty, not much-o.

anything? mmm... still no. well, ok...

cavalcade of obsticles sticking to her tongue like flies to flypaper
making blinking noises and sucking lippy kisses on her face and neck
....moan....
why is this a dream?
what is meant by this cavalcade of obsticles?
they bicker and they flinch away from her large pointy breasts
with sharp brown nipples
swaying to... and fro.
scraming - leaping away - in fright - in agony - in despair...
in doubt? self loathing attaches to their feeble souls like bits of glucose bagel to the underside of your teeth.
they are scared.
they run.
she sways.
to... fro... far... from... herself.
clotheless, nude, naked, adrift in the mutinous solitude of her own extreme eloquence.
desires crumbling and climbing... falling and rising... breathing in and out.
she wants to shout. and ask the gods there up above, to treat her as they would a cub.
"I am a tiny lioness - I need no rest - but feel a mass of... heat. the fire in my loins. it frightens me - it will destroy...."
but they -the gods- up there, up high, don't stop to wonder or to cry.
they have no time to ease the ache.... no will to tease... or eyes to fake.
"its gonna be all right, just wait." the Echo tells her when she wakes,
in her ravine - down, deep in the fertile valley, where she sleeps in wait.
..... ah, but the bait is laid. has been for ages. as old as stars and sky and DNA,
this cavalcade of obsticles still rages,
and knaws and kneads us to... and from... and fro... and far... away.