oct 20th, newcaste

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I woke in the child's room that my lover had grown in, hidden in a ring of books and faeries.  And crept down to breakfast, the sky through the window hanging low and grey, like a funeral veil.  I remember what it was about her, beyond her obvious beauty, that drew and turned me.  Grace of movement.  She moves like that only when no ones looking, or when it's dark.

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This page contains a single entry by allan published on February 12, 2010 10:56 AM.

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