The leaf looks away, hiding all the lines she needs to appear. The typewriter remains oblivious to her affections, while she sinks into frustrated lust. Her tie, though loosened, still feels tight. A sigh escapes. She has no patience for the art of subtlety. She wants all the words to tumble forth, all the closeness to consume her, all the nakedness of unfiltered thought, all the wildness of drunken hands fondling an excited body.
This is my studio for exploring my work. Consider these drafts.