Lolita loves the dark, she loves the mystery, the unknowingness of it, not knowing what may be there, lurking.
She loves the thrill, and the peacefulness of not knowing where you are. She's says that nights are for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day. She held my hand that night, her small and cold hand,
The room so dark I could see her ghost.
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Perfect Hurricane
PoetryWhen Lolita spoke nothing else mattered He could only hear her The loud noise of passing of cars and pedestrians and screaming sea gals was nothing compared to the loudness he heard in Lolita's voice A soft voice that put him to sleep every night A...
