The winter of imprisonment is over, freedom his again after years of forced dormancy.
Freedom.
The taste bright and metallic, like a drop of virgin’s blood on the tip of the tongue.
Freedom.
The sight irresistible, like the first flourish of pale, young female flesh in spring.
Freedom.
The sound musical, like the simper of the meek begging release from the mighty.
Freedom.
The odor intoxicating, like that of sweat shimmering off the skin of the terrified.
Freedom.
The feel intimate, like fingernails of the desperate raking runnels in the flesh of his face.
He watches, his head bowed, hat pulled tight to his brow, cracks his back and stretches his arms above his head taking in the expanse of his domain. Emperor. Lord.
He radiates with freedom, exalted.
Saliva pools in the fleshy pockets at the back of his mouth, where once he extracted wisdom teeth with pliers for the sole, sweet, excruciating ecstasy of it.
He reaches a hand into his trousers, feels himself, dreaming of what is to come.
Freedom unleashed.