Rue: Hot pepper of mothers bullwhipped till bloodlava'd down their backs and leapt off their heelswas one-hundred-proof, fire taste of slaveryPops spooned us raw charring first-hand.
Geo: His whip gashed, splashing into flesh --what it was made for. The twangof his whip walloped our shook headslike a hammer of acid.
Rue: With a swoosh of blooddown the back, the hips, the ass, it shot.Red sizzled, blazing, off our bodies.So hot, we felt chills.
Geo: Lash hit us like a whoosh of rain.Tall screams reared out of Three Mile Plains.Pops planted two twisted, crooked canes.See: they flowered into two crooked oaks.
Rue: His fist's width was as long as a horse's cock.His Decembral love iced over our hearts.
