Bitter Suite
Music can be a dangerous thing
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- 551 reads
The Cellist
Once, the cellist was a child Eyes mirroring Scandinavian skies Born with wildfire in his soul, they said The majesty of the firs in his bearing His skin the whitest snow-dusted taiga
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- 850 reads
Play Her
In the music-room with the lights turned low You sink into an armchair Leather caress like skin on skin Embers dance in the dying fire. The needle traces a delicate sphere
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- 1414 reads