Nethermostparts

Her eyes are green scallion-green. Not blue-cobalt or turquoise like a mountain lake, avian-blue, yet bluer. Hazel-blue, sclera, snot-green, flecked with dirt muddied turbid roiling. Nile-brown, or is it Ganges, necrotic with the stench, mortified and scabby; lice-scales flittering in an alabaster whiteness whiter than a priest’s robe, so it is, that white; Platonic-blue sodomy-blue, the Form of forms blue, yet bluer still. Too much blueness and not enough greenness, death’s ripening, in this the best of all. Blazes Boylan’s blissful assignations with Molly’s netherparts, undergarments hiked up around her throat warbling madly, seedcake seed everywhere. Not even the good manners to lave his privates with lemony-scented soap, purloined from poor cuckolded Leopold’s greatcoat pocket; the nerve of the man, this Blazes Boyland, opera enthusiast, sodomer of Molly’s nethermostpart.