majestic curls descending

I dragged a comb across my hair, afternoons of study giving way past dinner and into the night, finding my clothes, patting them down, fighting wrinkles and stains to develop my visual persona, for another show, staged elegantly. The best heroes are Byronic. Glancing at myself for a moment in a full length mirror, majestic curls descending down past my shoulders, a practiced stern look, broad shoulders draped in soft white cloth, loose, ready to blow in a breeze, a pirate, unschooled by laws (despite my legal vocation).

David Cain, Song of Songs

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About Lord Malinov

Lord Malinov, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet
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