a twist of legs, a sort of side jump shadow getting wild behaviour to its happy roots no-body can resist to this merry-go-round virus
“amour” is the only word remained in his dictionary the only drink accepted in his clans like a shard of life sparkling greater than the sun itself ashy
moustache hides a strange confidence when lifted from the always-filled glass with potion called manouche
in the eyes of Lewis he caresses the immortal chords