this is something i've been working on for a while. no verbs.
first time
The crickets shuddering secrets and the weight of every summer, with a voice a harsh whisper like a kicked and broken dog. And her dry throat, the only remains of the havoc of stale pollen off withered grass.
Under a sharp summer sky all dewy damp and too few stars. Her heaving pale cotton wraped body in an unruffled dress on the hood of a red chevy. And hard horny thighs and patient playing fingers.
She and the long tunnel of the moon, the distant cities of stars. Unsatisfied fingers and a ruffled white dress, but no whimper no moan.
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