Cowboy0Junkie0

He is a fallen angel, I realise, as he looms over me. He is the epitome of anger and of lust. I bow in his presence, falling graciously to my knees in defeat. Or weakness, I cannot seem to distinguish emotion any more. His eyes are red coals that burn and scorch the earth in their wake; I too, fall to them. It is my own imagination that fuels the fire, and I suck in a breath, harsh and ragged, lungs constricting as if they seek to hide away. He has hair that writhes like snakes, darker than night and blacker than coal. His thin frame is contorting, folding in half, bending down to take my hand and haul me bodily back up to my feet. I can fee