13 December 2012

qdesjardin: (Default)

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See the girl. Her hair is down her naked shoulders. The microphone is close to her lips. A rouge spotlight highlights her presence in front of the watching crowd, and her eyes are wanting for something.

Hear the melody. It plays gently when it begins. Those soft piano notes heard by every ear in the nightclub, and then her voice. My dearest, my lover.. It feels like silky, glistening petals gliding over your cheeks as your heart is enraptured by the song.

Smell the roses. The peppermint roses which rest upon the tables in glass vases, each seeming to give off their own unearthy illumination in the sensual darkness. How crisp, how refreshening. Almost like being in a gardenhouse villa.

Taste the drink. It swirls in your mouth, amongst your tongue as you swish the wine from cheek to cheek. At first it burns when you sip it from the glass, but it gives way towards an icy chill, soothing and soothing and it tastes bittersweet when finally it flows down your throat like rain.

Feel her lips. Those beautiful lips. Those textured, layered lips. The light lipstick hanging upon them.

All my secret life
All my magic thrills
Spread before your heart

In a kiss, she might make anyone suffer. In this song, the words she moans have made the room cry. An eternity passes over before the song comes to an end. You've never heard anything like it before.

The applause cannot take away the underlying sadness in her eyes however; cannot satiate the yearning or the inevitable clock inside her, ticking away towards end. But it makes her happy nonetheless, if only briefly.

Long after her song's lingering hold on your heart has dissipated, it will still linger deeply within hers.

June 2017

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