His room is dark but he pulls down shades. Their clothes drop to the floor like splattering blood. The young root enters too quickly. Edgar had hoped for prolonged stories written by traveling fingers. He bites the ear of the chicken to slow him down, rolls him on his back. His tongue bathes him and lips suckle him in orifices his Mama has forgotten. The young buck moans out love songs that mimic whispering saxophones. This from a boy whose longest conversation was “Yo, wha’s up, Gee?” But Edgar has him singing hallelujah praises.
Hello, To get this book free for your Amazon reading pleasure, click the button "would you like to tell us about a lower price?" on the Amazon Product Page. Thank you.