The Village is Missing its Coyote
"Well, you old dyke, I'd recognize your hide in a tan yard," Jolie said.
"You open for business?" Lotte Franchaunze-Lawson asked
"No, we're cleanin' the pig spleen heavens out of this place. Coco Moma is divined by smell," Jolie answered.
"How is Loraine?" Lotte asked.
"Loraine Leatherbow is alive and well. She has come with a clean heart and a new cow-tail whisk. Make an appointment, Lotte."
Loraine's clientele can find her in the back of the establishment where the ones who care for her are on a long waiting list to receive a dose of her gris-gris, an amulet, a potion or incantation used by an African voodoo priestess.
It deeply disturbed Loraine when her village was missing its coyote, that meaning the mean-spirited, back-stabbing village gossipmongers snaring the coyote in a leg trap to keep it away while they pitted one neighbor against the other. But Loraine did not let this go on too long. Before the coyote had to chew its leg off to get free, Loraine set it free with her voodoo, coming down hard on those gossipmongers.
When Loraine heard the coyote's call for assistance and call for loneliness, she answered its call. The howl of a coyote touched the soul of a voodoo priestess as deep as the roots of a lesbian yam farmer.
"If you dry the flesh of a hummingbird until it is powder, then put it into the bourbon of a glass of a woman, she will see only you. I've had three wives, and you all caught with hummingbird meat," Loraine told Jolie the morning after the first night they fucked hard, imposing a severe test of bodily and spiritual strength upon each other.
"If you tickle the cunt flesh of a woman with the root of a yam, will she follow you to Arizona to her yam farm?" Jolie asks, still high on bourbon and sore between her legs from climbing up the greased pole the day before.
Copyright Ms. Sage Sweetwater, Celebrity firebrand lesbian novelist
