

in matrimonyIn December, My eyes painted you on a moon rise; Your rapturous form Opaque in the night's luminosity, Bones of exquisite honey.in matrimony
Fixated on celestial dust Lining ebony velvet skies, Stars blossom; night lanterns Light skylines of promise.
Your familiar voice welds With seraphic carols, and I Remain rapt in your flushed eyes, In matrimony with my own.


december airGunshots in our heaven tonight;december air
A paroxysm of light slices through Crimson heartstrings and ebony skies- Bursts of neon shimmer and there is Rebirth in our caressed, volatile entities.
Grand clocks chime nightly melodies and Subdue us as we drown in celestial infinity And a private concoction of time on hold- As we breathe in the stars and smiles spread; Our hearts are winged and aching to take flight.
Fingers intertwined in prayer in the midst of The December cold air; eyes undressed as I Lean on marble and blow a gentle kiss Through inches un


youYou walked into my mid-winter reverie and stunned even the stars, till they fell into the grasp of my yearning hand. With your nectarous lips, you saturate me in a fume of a million wistful sighs. Oh it is an enticing perfume of epitomised grace and beauty, of which lingers on my window pane in the midst of a lonesome night. You paint colour onto the crackling black & white dream- you give me the most gorgeous sleep. And you are my morning glory, till it's witching hour once again.you


the essence of demiseWrap me up in winter’s solace and I’ll pray against the mighty winds, for tides of soulful rest and sighs of a dreary body comforted by a desired slumber. In silence, we kneel amongst funereal music just a tad too loud, and the sexy saxophone no longer an aphrodisiac. This time, the rain beats down to wash our sins away, and the melody of the orient meets west is only a distraction to the goodbye that has to be made. Clothed in somber ivory and shades of midnight, children are slapped with the sight of a victim of nature’s worst enemy- the element of eternal rest. An image too brutal for young eyes, it hauls desperate cries as their little hethe essence of demise
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Perth owns.--
~bydgoszcz, *polska, ~P-A-S-S, *poseraddicts, *three-
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[Aunia's Art]
[Aunia Kahn Design]
[Silver Era Tarot]
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Yes, I am well aware that I can't spell.
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Life means everything when alive, and nothing when you die
I would rather be hated for what I said, instead of loved for what I never meant (to all the haters)
Question everything, including yourself and your self
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He Who dies with the most toys is, nonetheless, still dead
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