His hands live in her crevices,
as bored mandibles that consume
flesh. They focus, myopic,
on pink-tinted, supple skin,
passing intent across synapses.
A rush of blood, sanguine triggers;
itchy finger. Intentions of tiny death
flow eye to eye; rods strain
against empty cones. Dilation follows.
Poppies, too, spread their petals wide
before being devoured, slopping
on the lips of this beast.
He's nourished by her
endorphic release.
i'm packing up, shipping out
changing my account.
this one has cancer. and is underage.
slim chances of survival.
mmmm, check out "data--lore" http://data--lore.deviantart.com/
that's mah new baby.
lator gaters
i can't view pictures with "mature content."
since when do i have to be the magical age of 18 to look at ART
why can't i see an artistic nude?
why can't i get a picture reference for an anatomy study?
why can't i look at emily scientific classification because it's called a VIRGIN moth?
fuck.