la dea dai capelli rossi

I see the skin of this woman. Bare before my morning eyes. Pale as the light that rests on blanco walls. Softness is her essence. Her red hair; the fragrance of entire summers. She stands as a statue with the windows open, absorbing the fluidity of the city views. Colours between shadows. Exclusive noise, airing through modern transmissions of music. Small baubles of light, their microscopic rays shining through the creme room. Comets of fire endowed by ginger aromas. The heat of candlelight. Increasing temperatures. Firm beatings of the heart. My lips, on the border of her inner thighs – each pore on the surface of her skin is coronated as a regal feature. A regal woman with the affirmation of aristocracy. Subtleness which only the divine can assemble.  Now she lays wondrous on the silk bedding. Reddened lips, like two slices of plums softly basking in the summer light. Midnight has overtaken our hearts and now we lay as two lovers, not knowing that the end is near. At times how I long for its return. To touch your lips – for just one more night. 

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