Smoke and PerfumeLip-gloss smacked to the rhythm of well-composed footsteps accents the olive-skin tones in perfect order.Smoke and Perfume
Dangerous curves and a striking profile would be enough, but there's always a chance of a turn of the head with eyes piercing through pupils, leaving their own mental mark on the mind.
It all comes down to sweat when those rhythmic heels creep their way in this direction. Those rhythmic heels at the end of sculpted, slender legs... at least, it would seem a master would give up so much time for perfection.
And then it
Glass, a Movement to the WestSwept over the Eastern tide, his silverGlass, a Movement to the West
longsword at his side, the scout grows accustomed to his light armour.
Soft winds argue with its weightless charm, and his fingers, bitten from the morning snow, slowly wipe away the numbness.
With his sand-blizzard steed still bleeding rain and dust, he warms the reins in a hold-fast grasp and barrels through another storm for the shelter written on his map.
An hour would pass before a bird, built of glass, flies above and cracks against his mountain cave. Splintered waves flail through
The Whistling in the NightA change in weather dries to my chest in warm, slow beats like I'm listening to the radio and it's echoing music I never bothered to tolerate.The Whistling in the Night
I cringe at the burning hairs stuck to my shoulders because they're not ready to say goodbye. They curse the cruelty of the gods for bringing them such desertion.
Dry sidewalk chatter clicks against long blades of grass, each growing a lifetime in three months. Almost like a memory, they whistle in the night until the leaves can descend
and join them.
The MeltApril came and stole the snow. There was never any need for cold patchwork on the extended carpets outside the building walls, and they were not desired.The Melt
Out they went, with river pace in some areas, with no regard to the busy bodies buried in the flow of stretch-marked city veins. (The nerve of some creatures.)
Finally laying their liquid ice fingers to rest, the brooks and streams allowed their solace. They would find their place in grand designs of seven bodies, then own the world.
plucked out of season IThe thing is that Iplucked out of season I
yearn for a dream of an extraordinary moment before a piece of me froze;
that life which I had lost,
because of
something I saw--
a child;
me.
MeowI have seen the kindest hearts of my generation wither from the fruitless duty of prolonging the thrashing of the dying old, whose feet grow mouldy from redundancy, whose voices hoarsen from screeching fearful into the night, whose minds can't remember the names of their visitors, nor the tasteless taste of the mush they spat out into the dimmed morning of breakfast.Meow
I have seen blackbirds chirruping as they hop back and forth
across the Barrier, as their ancestors migrated carefree
over the Wall, where bleeding men floundered watched and unaided in the death strip, as their
Ayazmana III
A Daily Deviation...
High
--
Brain tingles ftw
I haven't talked with you in such a long time.
And I'm soo happy for you.
We need to start talking again.
--
Bring out your best, we have
created such a mess, there is
heavy breathing on the sidelines
so take your steps, step timidly
you haven't seen the worst of me.
--
Visit my gallery...[link]
I apologize if your feelings were hurt.
--
'A stranger with a head full of lead photographs me.' - Steven Wilson
--
Visit my gallery...[link]
--
um... the cat is talking.
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