by Matthew Sanborn Smith
The women, though pierced, wore no metal. Those holes ran small and numerous across their smooth curved shapes. They oozed no blood but in the night their true natures were known. In gauzy gowns the ladies danced in the darkness before the moon shook itself awake, and where every hole broke their skin, light shone out. Spinning forms and long arms swam through the humid air and they appeared as sultry swarms of fireflies, flying fat and lazy about imagined axes.
Inspiration: This story was born of this very beautiful photo from flickr by Irina/Riri: