It was a matter of why, statuesque beauty over vodka and wine, an hourglass figurine. When you come around, it becomes tough to tell time. Seductress Stolichnaya, brunette, bridal, bohemian. It’s cruel how without even trying, you leave me in a state of dreams where I’m hardly breathing at the Gala. A seamstress couldn’t replicate your body shape. You look awfully familiar; it’s been a while since I’ve been in this hypnotic state. Eyes are pools of island bays, emphasized by the shine of geysers. A vivifying type of way, to kiss your lips would feel like fire. To put them out, I’d have to meet your jewels of diamonds. Only a fool could deny this muse that emphasizes grace, electrifying distress. Prostovian princess with a crystallizing gaze, an accent so alluring, the way you pronounce your words overarched. I’d feel your tongue twist cherry stems in my heart.
In the Spell of Miss P: A Delicate Dance of Desire, Elegance, and Enchantment
