| Clouds bloated with withheld gust, awe gazing. Sleet-wind, hangs an arm around shoulders of numb red poppies, breathing warm vision cloaks over frost-crusted hellfire eyes. Dreams of a fertile future of nearby suns, peace snug in sugar-beach promises of pleasure rain. Entranced, muted little threshed-heads bleeding poisoned slush-opium over virgin fields. Brutal eddies whip chaos behind a sonic mountain, whispering plots to each others core-eyes, boring a fallow crypt for the red yield with their tails. |
| Slaying Red Poppies |
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