Club-Of-OCs

Within the woods, among trees as pillars, Gustavo sat in the debris and leaves and grass. When sunlight yellowed his moreno skin, he stirred, And his robust muscles glistened like blown glass. Black hair like a black bear’s fur Flowed down his back in a lengthened dance. A butterfly landed on his gently squared jaw. Narrow almond eyes gazed to the dawn. With one deep breath, then another, Gustavo’s heartbeats attuned to the full drone From the gathering of floral and faunal sisters and brothers. His hair floated after a gust had blown, And his shoulders felt an astral embrace of a lover, And his throat released a deep and soft moan. Gustavo, with both moreno hands raised, Spoke a guttural, primeval, enchanted phrase. Antlers grew from Gustavo’s forehead and he gasped. The colors of the dawn flooded his brain’s sight. Sudden sweating provoked him to feel damp. A visage of a god grew from an astral vine, Who likewise bore antlers and also an asp And a torc, and his muscles smelled of