Another day working on the weird thing. A lot of slashing and burning going on which is good, but I have to cut this line because it doesn’t fit the tone or the POV. It’s too purple. It’s a shame though, I like it. It’s got to live somewhere and here’s as good a place as any:
He falls to his devotion like a zealot, a man frightened that his worship will fall short, that the altar he is praying at will disappear before he’s done.
Mapping out her pleasure with every buck of her hips, every whimper and sigh, so he’ll know the way back here next time. An occasional experimental move, testing, comparing the last time to this time.
There’s every chance I’ll use these lines somewhere else but for now, they’re homeless.
Erin gave me an excellent note on this piece by the way. She said, “Save the poetry for Izzy.” and she is 100% right. Trust your beta people.