The scented lake quivers: a Moses soup of sensual temptation; a cloying swathe of florid accents and the peacock flag to an idle god. Skin is coated, alcoholic film greased over like a second fur, every filament primed and ready.
The peacock struts - female feathers fanning this time - an age old trick stolen from the men and elegantly refined. Flower colours brighten the senses, trawling back through Neanderthal red into a whole spectrum of scarlets until the brain screams with aortic warmth.
The fragrance lingers still: wafting into every cavity, every open pore; invading the core of being and seeping out in languid swimming -
of lazy sexuality.
Photo from I series I did to accompany this piece.
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