�black snake moan.

Seduced by the chill that settled between them, there is an unsteady calm that quells his bones to ache and persist; Lucent is the tyrant of his solemn business, an omnipresent nightmare that harrows upon the border of reality in reckless dissent. His existence is but a dream ? a gasping intimacy that retches its volatile passion in ruining his past, a vagrant anatomy in its handsome menagerie of chiseled bone and fibrous flesh. He rises quietly from his den of shadows, dripping from him the black waters and shards from their obsidian shore to turn his amusement toward his amiable transient, listening quietly in a pretense of piquancy. Wry, and delivered from his humor by this man's philosophy, a smile cracked along the dry length of his ravenous jaws, a chuckle rolling from the reaches of his shuddering lungs. His design is twisted, rippling; a mesh of reptilian coil and vicious latency that composes an intensity to his musculature, brusque and long in its lean physique. There is an overwhelming sense of devilry to his actions, to his expressions ? a sultry appetite for sin and indulgence that is a resident to his entirety. It does not move, an intangible force that is grounded even in the face of desperation, as he is approached by his hostile companion. War is his most parched thirst. But it is in being questioned that his smile dissipates, relinquishing his neutrality in the possession of his wildest cruelty. It was his memories that collected to answer such a question; it were his dreams and hallucinations that suddenly gathered in the crook of his mind. Because he could not forget what he was after, no matter how many nights could be spent in warmth and desire. Could not forget her face, her eyes, the haunt that preceded his tameless ferocity. ?Nothing.? his voice intercepts ? a rough, throttling baritone that slices the cold air between them as his visitor intrudes. His voice is as chilled as steel, and twice as sharp in its assertive blow; his eyes narrowed upon syrinx in a speculative glance that lacked all extent of warmth. His hackles had raised, a river of black spines that drew along the length of his vertebrae, and his eyes swarmed with a violence that devoured his being, his shoulders squared. Yet he is eased in silence that bears upon the moment, recollecting in a steady wane as his memories ceased to flare and reminisce upon his sorrow. ?I conquer what I desire. This place will not move me any more than that which I pursue. Only satisfaction will be my death.?