*Her perfume weaves a hint of tempest.
The blanket hibernating the illusive summers
lights a spark of desire.
He doesn’t open his eyes.
The smoldering fire
would bring him smell of cinders.*
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 6:46 AM UTC
*Her perfume weaves a hint of tempest.
The blanket hibernating the illusive summers
lights a spark of desire.
He doesn’t open his eyes.
The smoldering fire
would bring him smell of cinders.*
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