Lightning — Now there's a sexy machete: a pounce of sky electric — electricitied — inflamed. What's the sugar, Hurricane? The rain's all tinned romantic in the water pots. The waterspouts are full-on Rashmahanic.
What's the hurry, Sugarcane? A pounce of sky enlightninged, Edgy-sexed . . .This is the sugar. This is the hurry.