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Her PerfumeShe bites my lip, bites her own
and there's something glorious about her
and the careless, controlled caress of her palms
I kiss the freckles, paled by maturity
beneath her autumn-eyes
and she smiles, oh God, she smiles.
I inhale the heady scent of her throat,
cigarettes and spice and that perfumed mist
she keeps in a vial of absynthe-green
beside the bed.
I wish my skin would melt
so that I could crawl into hers
and feel her pulse more clearly against my soul
I wonder how to explain this to her,
this dark-bright drowning in flames
like rough velvet
but I've lost my reason long ago
Instead, I stutter an incoherancy and she
she smiles, oh God, she smiles.
I knew she'd understand.
BreathlessIt could be years away
or maybe a week or a day
but not a minute goes by
that I don't think of how I'll die
And in every thought
is the idea that you brought
that there should be someone
who's by my side until it's done
My greatest fear
draws ever nearer
that I won't find the one
who'll waste days with me, out under a golden sun
All I wish for
is you at my door
saying you'll never leave
even after I can no longer breathe
SweepAs soon as he stepped into the open field, he slung the minesweeper from his shoulder and pointed its nose to the ground. It was old, worn and heavy, and old and rough, calloused and breaking, and old. The metal between his hands was cold and chilled his fingers. If he was not careful he could step on the very mines he was trying to find. They would have to pick up the pieces of his body and to send the tags home where his wife would cry and hold his son and daughter close with nothing to show them of their father but a piece of metal engraved with "Ajeet Singh".
One sweep, than another.
This war had taught him to never trust open spaces. Open spaces were where the mines were planted, where Prets lay in wait. France was green and damp just like the uniform he wore. It had been days since he was separated from his unit, and now the Allies were breathing on his neck, searching for POW’s, searching for the enemy of which he was one. &
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More