Cinnamon
Moroccan rose
Paralyzed Stapler
Helena1411
107 Reviews
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Helena1411
Top Review
32
Just and so much more
Just cinnamon and Moroccan rose …
Meanwhile, peach juice flows like nectar over your gray mood, a little balm for your battered soul, whose bittersweet tears are soaked up and carried away by the spicy plum mist, to distant lands where the sun rises before yours, where the cinnamon dust, fine as desert sand, paints dune landscapes under warm amber sun, where your invisible pain is blown away.
Little cloves sparkle softly like stars in the dark sky of your thoughts, the cinnamon landscapes glow golden beneath them, while the herb-fruity stream of peach gently meanders through foreign fields, capable of carrying all your deeply buried sorrow with it.
The thorns of the burgundy rose can no longer hurt you, so far it lies in your past that it is now just a distant hint, cradling your memory like velvet.
You let yourself be carried,
cinnamon-gold-bedded, clove-spiced-lit, peach-lovingly-flowing, plum-warm-blown, rose-velvet-remembered,
with your pain, with your sorrow, with your memory.
Just cinnamon and Moroccan rose …
Meanwhile, peach juice flows like nectar over your gray mood, a little balm for your battered soul, whose bittersweet tears are soaked up and carried away by the spicy plum mist, to distant lands where the sun rises before yours, where the cinnamon dust, fine as desert sand, paints dune landscapes under warm amber sun, where your invisible pain is blown away.
Little cloves sparkle softly like stars in the dark sky of your thoughts, the cinnamon landscapes glow golden beneath them, while the herb-fruity stream of peach gently meanders through foreign fields, capable of carrying all your deeply buried sorrow with it.
The thorns of the burgundy rose can no longer hurt you, so far it lies in your past that it is now just a distant hint, cradling your memory like velvet.
You let yourself be carried,
cinnamon-gold-bedded, clove-spiced-lit, peach-lovingly-flowing, plum-warm-blown, rose-velvet-remembered,
with your pain, with your sorrow, with your memory.
Just cinnamon and Moroccan rose …
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