Blood of the Moon
Blood of the Moon The most primal of things a rushing wave of tidal red courses down my thigh having its way with me. A showy reminder of the power of it. The red. The mother. The babies. The blood. The moon. The forgotten children gone too soon, humming in the hiss of the heat vent. Organic and opulent the words threaten me, gathering together in whatever fashion they want, and expose me once again. Another secret comes to rest. It lays still now beside me, looking up at me with its hollow... Sign in to see full entry.