NICK JOAQUIN (1917-2004)
Rest well, may your words linger long past these days.

"He lifted his dripping face and touched his bruised lips to her toes; lifted his hands and grasped the white foot and kissed it savagely - kissed the step, the sole, the frail ankle - while she bit her lips and clutched in pain at the windowsill, her body distended and wracked by horrible shivers, her head flung back and her loose hair streaming out of the window - streaming fluid and black in the white night where the huge moon glowed like a sun and the dry air flamed into lightning and the pure heat burned with the immense intense fever of noon." (from 'The Summer Solstice' in Tropical Gothic, 1972)