Her lips trace the hollow along his collarbone, over the inflection of sinewy shoulder, sliding down. This mouth daubed with just a gloss of sunset so that afterwards only a trace of ambition will linger.
And she is painted. And she is waiting for a remembering:
that She
the Me
that I was
am
here.
L
L
– Lola Moi –
Bellissima! Enjoyed true! Grazie! Bells xxx
Thank you! 🙂 xo