t waits
art, and the room inh
ll her
came from, and that's
lights, slow jazz, eyes watching f
eartbeat, syncs with
it , fluid, contro
ce for them; she d
ure, every glance , a
crave most: the illusio
her with hunger
two, wi
f them rea
e eve
a slow, deliberate dip that t
breaks
ights
he curtain before any
away her gloves, he
usual lie , a woman perfectly c
, smearing a streak of red
de, Paris hums
etween two songs, she belong
/0/98811/coverbig.jpg?v=80b23abd91746862b3fcd3bbf158293a&imageMogr2/format/webp)