Indigo Samson (17)

   
   "Indigo Samson (17)"
   
   Samson Landon pulled his wondrous, wavy mane back into a poor man's ponytail and solidly sauntered, with a purpose, as if he knew where he was going, and he did, through the suburban sprawl of it all till up to Maxie's Irish Catholic front door; next, he rang the doorbell with a blue pointer, his own, and the love of that push had symmetrical synergy with the craving chime, Maxie knowing he was coming after her semi-sacred heart, her forged not to be proud or arrogant, and in twisted sister love with those toxic traits, yet constructed by the Book of Life to learn love, intrinsically knowing that a gentle stroke of electric connection between mother and father is beyond the engagement of gladiatorial intercourse, and not because she couldn't have vicious victory with her vaginal values, but due to a foundation of faith in the fidelity of those fit beyond Darwin's delinquency, able to withstand blows of bravado shoved in their faces for decades, allowing themselves to be walked over, turning the other cheek, mostly always; however, there is a time for peace, yet there is a time for war; moreover, Maxie had outshined the threshold of faith, knowing it was true Hebrew history, and would religiously reap a protracted portion of non-pernicious party-time, having rooted herself by sowing the sublime seed into a planet once enslaved.
   She bit her bottom lip out of the suave shock of this super-mundane mutation of the seasons, and greeted Samson at the door, him armed with a crooked grin, glaring deep into her soul, and the love was axiomatically atomic.