pale loiter

The Duke’s other protegè, seemingly lost to drugs, drinks and an unquenchable need for something to suck, slender in unnatural ways, Sharon slunk uneasily towards the step rising into the spotlight. Guitars wail in endless sorrow, the languishing lament of a torch whined in the night, chopped it down with the edge of my hand. The speed of his fingers, the lazy lie of her lisping drawl, inspected the gauze of her dress laying soft over bony shoulders, cries into the darkness offers herself in unsteady sacrifice, one word swimming into the next, flashes of sentience and lean, naked limbs below the fan blown silk, and the pale loiter of submission.

Lord Malinov, Song of Songs

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About Lord Malinov

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