incense

Magic. It was worse than feline logic. Leave it to magic to re-fracture and re-herniate his vertebrae in the middle of a battle. A powerful sigh forced itself through the controlled exhale of his Ki breathing, decimating the thin slow line of smoke curling up from the incense. It reformed itself a moment later, right before Bruce__ eyes, and he glared at it with Batman__ most malevolent stare. What a metaphor. A few seconds_ disruption and all was set right again. That was magic__ attitude. No harm done. As if it was as simple as a few seconds_ paralysis.

The amount of perfume she had on was like a human sacrifice on Incense Night.

You have the body of a god and the smile of a demon. I walk towards you, barefoot, a believer walking a religious path. I wrap my arms around your neck, a priest hugging his crucifix. I offer you my all. Burn me like incense. Let's make all the church bells in hell ring just for us.

A broken soul is not the absence of beauty, but a cracked and torn soul reeks of the sweet incense it contains.

I am copacetic with leaning on the sacred, but I need to make sure all the mundane bases are covered before we break out the crystals and incense for a good chant.

The syrup of lilies hangs thick and sweet in the air, its cloying scent the traditional mask of death and rebirth: ashes and incense, rain and dirt, and something like rosin. It's the scent Hector associates with God. The scent of heavenly things.