The Knife

nife
Clasping, her hair was, drifting, twining, coiling. Riverine still mist loosened from its passioned patterned form lain seamless to green, severed incompletely penetrated in probing tenacious testing seeking strands, swift tresses taking pressing to change mist's essence and not to give, to give nothing like a knife.

The mist remained but it was not what it had been.
The river was but changing dreams, but transient powers braided to a semblance of consistency. It changed that grayed mist enfolded day she took me there to kill me. Lilies blessed her restless hair always with their sweetness lent. Honey rich they did embrace my ardent shoulders and breast they traced silken the lengthy locks while she smiled while her matchless soft full lips allured's queen unpriced she smiled. From between her breasts a silver g lim (dark, misted day) no, from flexuous curve in gentle linen folded where her sweet spine quivered once in its flesh, once, beneath the adoration of my lips (dismal, silent day) hard silver struck.

She sought, swift, unwarning, to breach and break my honed fierce body fierce to praise her flesh with flesh, honed but to her touch revealing softened secret keys of tender gifts of sharing. x took me upon the river green and growing fluid for deception in her lying and it changed as she changed and I changed for when the knife ascended slipping, passing ribs no barrier to such intent surpassing cunning she thought I could not transcend her.