"A sitting duck?" the tiniest draft could enter a puckered vacuum where bulging jungle air moistened the throbbing rhumba box. "Here's the beef house." a stray dog moved among the hogs knocking steers with the hands of a satyr, his burnt horns blaze crazily, a drunken tongue out, breathing hard, the camel-necked meat glazing. "A man can't let a woman make a monkey out of him." poetry and music stood quickly erect, "Hello, darling," The prairie breeze danced with human breathing. She was air in motion, a flowing rhythm, lithe, pantherish, with lyric warmth, a tingle of danger. "Love comes to the birds and the bees," like a buffalo: huge, hairy, humming tribute to lynx-eyed creatures, jackrabbits riding horses, through man-eating witch fire, their new red lips gracefully naked. A choir of creaking crickets wrapped her precious body in a luscious crescendo. Antelopes seemed to crackle with the throaty growl of the great wind. The tornado savagely indulging the beast. The growl rose to a roar. "Isn't sex love?" the mousy lamb became quite catty; "Get out of here you beeg ape!" she said, leisurely, transcendently. love was more than a snaky samba and he was just another hog who throttled the organ. |