Musth, or: A must

A prose poem Aggressive like an elephant bull in musth, it's invincible. My ears tremble, athunder. Heart in heat, receptive, reddened; the bull swollen, leaking, irresistible. Love's low, pulsating rumble signals one singular purpose; sickly-sweet odor overwhelming; ears flapping in agitation; ichor flowing from his temples. My sanctum's four innermost chambers open, pulsing; nagada apounding.… Continue reading Musth, or: A must

Savory, or: Sweet

A limerick Miz Jelenaโ€™s Sweet Potato Pie Draws me so, but I cannot say why. I wonder 'bout the tangy smell... But the woman refuses to tell! "Just, eat some more," she replies with a sigh. d'Verse poetics prompt: Make mine a double-dipper! At d'Verse, poets were encouraged to select at least one of the… Continue reading Savory, or: Sweet

Not the word for clothing

Liss had only been taught a smattering of vernacular terms in Daidanese, enabling Master's servants to attend to her most basic needs. He'd taught her the essentials: bathroom, hungry, cold, hotโ€ฆ but not the word for clothing, of course. That was entirely his prerogative. Her luxurious chambers had been designed and created by the Kingdom's… Continue reading Not the word for clothing