she was a dark thing to him.
when she wasn't there
he thought of her,
her face in all that hair,
like a little flame
dark and deep like velvet
saturated
her hair fell all about her
like candle wax
her pale breast breathing
her voice, the little hush, the sweetness
and her hip, almost reaching out
to everyone.
he wanted to keep her
but she wouldn't have him
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montreuxcat:
Love the lines in your journal. And I really love your 'file... haha, you do that too? I love the whole going-to-artsy-coffeeshop-and-pretending-to-be-busy-yet-actually-eye-flirting. It's fun. 
Anyways, how was "Play the Piano Drunk Like a Percussion Instrument Until The Fingers Begin to Bleed a Bit"?
Anyways, how was "Play the Piano Drunk Like a Percussion Instrument Until The Fingers Begin to Bleed a Bit"? 
_v_:
is that autobiographical?