A Hurricane Named Desire
That lying, deceitful floozy batting her washes, massacred lashes. It’s become a familiar ordeal. She thrashes everybody’s coast, flees inland so the weatherman can’t report her whereabouts on the six o’clock news. He has a feeling his Doppler is haywire. Her indecent cleavage breaks our levee and the whole scene washes away, becomes a soup of sighs and arousal mixed with junk mail, diapers, and spatulas at this ill-timed moment. […]
Melancholy Hyperbole 