Jazzmin Flush (92)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (92)"
   
   Thomas was reminded of things, as Christ had once reminded him of the Holy Spirit Itself; indeed, wending wolfways--like a rainbow hued starburst of various blues, he transformed with might, mercy, and splendor before Jazzmin's adoring, golden-fused eyes.  It was always a divine pleasure to watch her boyfriend become the Spirit Wolf, enhanced physically; plus, armed with a Good Spirit's chance to always right the wicked wrongness that flows with the intent of human destruction.
   So, able to kinda smell the lingering scent of most anything nearly 40 feet buried in Mother Earth's virtuous belly, Thomas dug quite a ways till unearthing a large portion of agate--it being enough for Jazzmin's fluttering and charming eyelashes to sell for a ticket homewards, down in Southern California where the sunsets are still a bit purple hazy, and the Beach Boys remain to haunt with innocent and benign fever--ya get me.
   As if "reminded" of all the nurturing things Thomas had done for her, Miss Jazzmin Flush could not help but burp up thanks after some of their wolf-sniffed funds bought a beautiful San Francisco pie of the Italian variety, it covered in rabbit thighs and banana peppers, Thomas never hungering for a big stag, knowing the protective, Northern European magic offered by the running beast--running to survive, running to live free, running to mate, but never running for office, only sweetly enchanted by the nature of its leaf-eating self, loving the land, and paying it forward with poops that fertilize farmlands, yet without the wolf, trees and vegetation die, for the stags devour the Earth, and the hunger of the wolf keeps the vegetation pumping better air; still, Thomas kept away, telepathically reminding Jazzmin how good whale blubber was up Northways, and she could not help but be playful with banana pepper seduction, french-kissing him suddenly, and pushing that mildly hot pepper onto the tip of his tongue, it lovingly touching hers.