Français
Menu
In the fragile, fleeting moment of love, time is a distant echo. Lost to the In the fragile, fleeting moment of love, time is a distant echo. Lost to the whir of wings as they caress the air in ascent. And the firm touch of hands, made delicate by warm embrace, beckoning back to the quiet palace of the bed. The mind reels in slow dizziness. The heart quickens, pauses, and releases its pace to a gentle, even flow. Eyes dance delightedly, with the casual spark of knowing. Hair glows softly, touched by the slender fingers of light fading through guarded shades. Easy breath now.
