Torque

When she twists, I think of tiger ribs stretching, trancing with their electro blue jungle streaks moving slowly against the walls. Ribs turning red in the dark, droning like a thick mouthy rainforest, eating night fruit. Basilisk-like, heavy with the still movement of dark thoughts, reverberating with contained hisses of hellfire. The spine, momentous, arching like a reptilian god, drawing life with death, writing circumstance in blood and stride. There is no way of finding my footing here. I, who do not know my name. I, who lie, broken in curves, my legs thrumming in a sea of aftershock. Circle me, and once more, and again, somewhat menacingly break off my last sky in small, fissured bites like it is nothing. From the mouth, take the word, wield it against the throat. Electric Blood, jump at the wild call. Rain, map my unbecoming. Leave me to soften my own destruction till all body, a coalition of storms, is one slow line cut in two and between— a sun is born.