You see her and you think about her capricious hair, what a calamitous nature, with a withering desire, such a guileless passion. She's effulgent, a brilliantly radiant feeling, yet ambigue, a bitter sweet poison, that aroma of hers.
The feeling of blood and agony, her slave, captivated by her fierce passion. Devoted to the eagerness and the storm, to the outburst of the emotions.
An exquisite dawn, under the scattering flare. A planget, plumbless beauty. A rubescent, rutilant swain, the surly, yet gentle breeze.
A satiristic, painful longing. She's the colour red.
