He kissed her with his soft enveloping kisses and she responded to them completely; her mind, her soul gone out.
Darkness cleaving to darkness, she hung close to him, pressed herself into the soft flow of his kiss, pressed herself down, down to the source, and core of his kiss, herself covered and enveloped in the warm, fecund flow of his kiss that traveled over her, flowed over the last fiber of her, so they were one stream, one dark fecundity and she clung at the core of him with lips holding open the very bottomest source of her.
* * *
Drummers, Front and Center, March!
The Sunday School teacher had been telling her class about the benefits of being good. At the end of her discourse, she turned to a bright-eyed little miss and asked:
“Where do good little girls go when they die?”
“To heaven,” was the prompt reply.
“And where do the bad girls go?”
“To the depot to see the traveling men come in.”