To Ours And Bashville'

breadsticks.

I 

we passed in merry! it is the 158th day - the moon, half-crecented. this night a hundred horses stroll, and we patrol; a little hungry, nomadic. we're primal and sexual. the forest has sullen into dark green, our torches lit. scavenging. the light snow sheaths past our leather, booted feet.

our god is a woman; we praise - we f**k. their anklets jangle, dressed in light veils, vanilla accents. n*****s adorned, or to wherever they may please; supple and intoxicating, our prostitutes are elitist - for we serve them well. it is not uncommon if you may find men pleading to be of substance; en route; for it is difficult for us to keep our dicks tucked. the world is deemed degraded - so are we.

krutush foots away an ugly toad. he is still aroused from the night he and sushma had camped, smirking with sly to his otherwise, satirical smile. our lips were chapped. the oil lamps shuddered slight from the passing gust of what appeared a north wind, cool and warm.

we carry these women on our backs; in our chariots of gold; and mahogany. each imprinted texts from what our ancestors preached. redundance; mesos. for you keep us still sustained. our festives have not seen the end of sight yet, but we have certainly ran out of liquor. how could we celebrate you? the distant town is miles of paces away. we needed food.

we're currently on our routes to ridhvi; the west coast along the virgin country. this was the valley we often landmarked to find our way home; it splits into two from a river. i bring my pointers down. both lands were barren. the troops took a moment. 

"no one of our tribe remains chaste. all work regardless of age - only post legal. each allowed a weapon and a fourth to carry; we do not assassinate neither; nor harass against the likes of each other. if concerned, we take sentence to execution." we were recited. sometimes, the children took care of that. we threw them a few dimes or a hard, sweet jhumoli.

apparently, krutush is madly in love with advitha - and sushma. we're still walking. i pull out my last sip.
"what a moron. he is turning thirty-five next month, and these girls could be twice his age less." we glee mockingly, as if yudh hadn't married young bivadhri - wasn't she still being educated? 
the females are fair, blissfully petite so. the girls gossip from behind, turning tulips. they shy away from sight. shy women; eyes lined from mascara. 
but i did not choose to be a celibate; i couldn't have had sex in about a turn ago, did i? i needed skin. i needed woman. i needed touch, taste, smell, tongue, the lips, hips and pelvic. i yearned for warmth. for wet. for a body to sink my hands, to grope to. i was filled. my crotch strained. i could feel the twitch in my nerves. i felt almost possesed. dark.

cart wheels. the twigs underneath break, the gravel passes shift. i tie this cloth steadfast around the top left slit of my ear; breathe. is that fog? blood rushes.

having protected our home for long years now - our skins remain scarred, dark, tanned. years of history marked on our bodies; of war, of tribulation. patriotic hypocrites. we were stern; our armors were eggshells. our spears were loafs of breads; our eyes were shimmering jewels - lapis and topaz. deciet is seductive; but we were afraid of death. it would be rather pleasant to live away as subordinate.

i was reminded about a man who told me i was damned; that our kind were borne out of shadows; and peril. what foolishness. i was going to waste myself tonight, but this tobacco tastes bitter. i spit. a few ants foam around. poor lads; there is no sugar ripen. 

who have we not fought? what clan have we not avenged? i pride in my ego. i remember when i was just eighteen and i could shoot people off the hives, climbing for thefts, or taking away shares. shares of hides, of animal meat. a persistent victor. we treated others with what we were given; respect, or crime. we were fond of nudity. often, we would dance with women bare. around fires, dressed in leaves pitched and berry. the gods hated us; but we chose to praise the relics. 

i loved painting. i would often hear an earful from my parents about whoring down on females, above and twenty. i couldn't count on how many.
the lines in my palms remained rather silent. my fingers could dabble through. my veins would show, my skin was wheatish. part of my teeth were chipped. i did not look attractive. 

II

i wanted to f**k subhodri. penalize her. to grab her rose-tinted hair into a mess, to jack off on her bewitching breasts. i wanted to ruin her face; as she sweat. parts where i would hold her down; arched and restrained. her internals carnalized me. i wanted to kiss every inch of her porous skin; to rub her beetlenut - paint red and slur; pick her glossy lips. smoke nicotine, fondle her plush. raise her legs, up and wide - gracefully so. grab her mouth shut; open. breathe in exchanges; mist hot. her legs' antique, my hip to her clutched waist - to thrust myself through. to catch a glimpse of her cold, sly eyes then. her moans could echo with the sways of momentum, forth and back; pleasures. plasmic. her bony landmarks; white and fair. her blushed joints; delicate body, high strung. frail, could take on. her feminine appeal. to tease her around the naabi* and wherever ticklish, her body was an artifact; a nuance of which every span and instance aroused me. i could break a rock now. i wanted to bury my face in her a*s, fist into. i was euphoric; dumbfounded. heck! i wanted to be a man-w***e. i laughed in hysteric. i wanted her to spit into me. my desire didn't suffice from mere contact; i wanted to consume her. i craved her intensely. i could have her on a plate, fork and ceramic; i wanted to paint her nude figure, porched or rest lay, on our new sheets - silk, gold linen. or a sandstone pillar, perhaps. we would have a hundred infants. i wanted her to dress in her most revealing; - show her off. humiliate. i wanted to carve her out; groove. bite; leash me down. i was a subject. i wanted to be fondled between. gripped. consoled. she was my woman of authority.
my jaws grit; i could not bear my own desire any longer. my nails dug deeper into my clenched fists; i was a madman. a wild hog. untamed; my body was driven; as if  pulsed. i surged from a rush ~ thunderclaps! this must have been a sign from the gods.
that night, her eyes would roll white - her soul i fucked out; no mediocrity. we were gasped for breath; our bodies shivered and palpitated spasm; we were left bruised and hickey. drunk, funny. the earth below us had sifted; the stars had fallen onto ground, striking. sharp edges, one sunk next to our tent in septagon - erupted fountains. the birds soared high. we laid cocktails and lemons. i was lifted, light and feather; for who could have caught me? it must be her. i had to be back from mars. she was venus, my beloved. we were exempted of sin, my raatrika.* 

blissed as i was, i snap out - it was broad daylight. i kissed her on the lip while she was asleep. i wanted to bring her a dandelion the next day, or perhaps a red one. or the one with those long, stringy pollens; delicate petals - those seemed nice. my heart couldn't rest. i did not see an end to emotion. i couldn't quench enough.

i hadn't had a good palatable in days. i hear the sound of nickle; the children playing around in merry - hop and squatch; shakers and trumpets - a little ruckus this early in the morning. was the fresh meat being brought in? i bathe. my head still stung from liquor and hard sex. my clothes fit tighter than usual. 

our chains were rusted.