i want to hold your face between my hands and study it like goddard jump-cutting to the back of sebergs head in a speeding car attempting to capture the beauty of sunlight
She totters on new heels along the Kings Road young slender delicate hair freshly blown expensive apparel the most costly of scents in return for affection she expects only the best.
It had been nagging at him all morning, like an itch demanding to be scratched. He busied himself with work, making calls and chasing leads, but the irritation remained.
There remain days when I miss your dark fountain of hair the caramel skin and glistening lips. Nights when I long for portugese whispers in the darkness as you press close to me.