writing

spending the afternoon with death

spending the afternoon with death

she plunged her sharp fingers

into herself

in front of me

and made herself come

her skin became loud and fragile

like a ripe petal

this is how death invites you in:

with wet hands

her face covered in sweat

promising.

Published by

Spiritwolf

dreamer, writer, explorer, creative, critical thinker, maker of my own reality. part left - part right brained, often found out chasing fish, the moon, music, muse... the magical, mystical and metaphysical, art, travel, foodndranks, my pack, beauty, the light and the dark, adventures, the arcane, the strange and profane...

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