Rolling backwards, kiss kiss kiss.
or just my thoughts on the matter)

She grimaces as,

with one more alcoholic rumble

he hurls his weight against her granite shield, and she

turning her face, yet again, castigates the children

for even being awake.

Her aluminum voice screeches through the plaster,

and bombarding them thankfully into momentary silence,

she quickly fortifies her tight flannelette defence.

His weight, by now, almost too much for her to maintain.

She hisses her rejection of the advance and weeps inwardly

realising that the mist encircling his brain permits him to recognise 

nothing but his intentions.

So she, 

as Siphysus before her,

struggles with distended eyes against the hill confronting her. 
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