Midnight in Paris (2011)
The Black sisters | The war begins
Valentino fall 2014 rtw details
We spoke in tongues that day,
Your fingers trailed my body like
a harlot skimming through the bible finding her daily grace.
The Sun, her majesty, jealous of the
nervous heat that fought for a moment of breath between your satin body and my scarred chest.
Did you know that I almost cried?
Because your touch was everything I feared the most.
Your touch was confidence, maybe love.
We don’t speak the same language anymore,
For your fingers,
are too holy for mine.