night

The russle of leaves, stirs like music on a cold night, a glass of wine in one’s hand, shimmers like a pond frozen over in the winter’s harsh vengence.
Slow foot drums slightly to an unknown beat, as a dog might with his tail when excited.
Clouded windows, heavy with hot breathe, cool down after a nose pressed against it. Tinkle of a grand piano, sounds out over the empty forest, fingers tap gently, a sigh filters through the high notes.

night

AmeliaWhispers

Joined March 2009

  • Artist
    Notes
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