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Writing: I heard a song of her

I was there, a nightclub in Paris, in the middle of the crowd when she caught me. Her hazel eyes like flashing sapphires, her skin like the purest vanilla cream, her blonde hair flowing around her like an angel’s wings, her: she was there. The club was busy with lights and with sound; the crowd pressed close; there was no one there.

She came towards me and I was surprised; she was so beautiful; she was so beautiful, an Angel yet fiery, every line exuding passion and heat. I felt like I was being sucked into the wake of a comet. She would burn me I knew, but oh... the fiery power of her. She was there; we danced; angel’s cried; mountains crumbled; nothing would ever be the same again. The rest of the night was a blur except for her. Her fine, soft fingers on my body, the smell of her, the taste of her lips like the sweetest nectar of the finest red rose, the delicate flesh of her pressed close to me. And her kiss, always her kiss on my lips, until the end, when my defenses were gone, and my heart was smeared all over her lips. Just like her Cherry Chapstick.

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