molten

she's no good. the girl from the fresh driven snow. every day she waits. for some thing to unfold. for some one to show her what it's like....when somebody else knows....how she wants him to.....relish what's down there. or anywhere. or anywhere else specific, and....she's frightened....about....how good it might feel....when she allows herself to feel....a certain way....that a number of other women don't even understand....because they had been frozen or frigid or incapacitated.....inside themselves. inside their own minds....a form of self-denial where pleasure is not an option and should never really be sought after. but she had felt the tingling.....she had felt the turgidity.....of when things become engorged....and no doubt about it, she had felt famished for release....and she had decided to let it go....to release it....the way some other women let go of anger....right up into the firmament....the way a volcano spews out ash and molten lava....without her ever worrying about any collateral damage....whatsoever