Sensation of sinking into quicksand. Sleep in her eyes like pulpy maggots, drooling. Petal folds above her pelvis, unfolding. Like what? Can’t put my finger on it (or Can I?). Those purple grapes are so small I can smoosh a whole handful, so sweet I can only suck them one-by-one. They get gloopy at the bottom of your bucket but I love gloop-scooping.
Oh, don’t do that, leave it off, let them hang! That bra reminds me of those six-pack plastic rings ripped off soda cans and existing somewhere until a seagull uses it to hang itself. Let them hang.