A species of mole salamander living most of its life
underground. It can be found closer to the surface
in the cool, wet days of spring.
She licked hunger from the air.
Baptized it with teeth.
Gleaming and panting for blood.
His rock-vein hands squeezed her onto a precipice. She climbed his man lines, clawed him like a tipping mountain.
And she begged for it to fall.
Above them, the forest leaves with her spellbound legs, shivering, then clenched. Like roots deciding to splinter stone.
Images squirmed. Wet and living.
She thought of salamanders tunneling in the deep. And the nameless things they did there.
He crushed against her.
Salamanders poured and spiraled. Clutching. Nibbling a protoplasm earthquake.
The torn soil drank her scream.
He sank into her.
Some part of him gone.
In the dark of her closed eyes, butterflies wandered. Drowned in the smell of Earth, the colorful stars lived only in her eyes.