Puderperle

Enchanting are your lips. A curved bow like brush strokes of the old masters. If I could touch them with my fingertips, they would be soft like young moss. Tell me everything that moves your heart. Your warm breath at my ear. Clove-spiced sounds, words...

The wind whipped against our faces and felt like knife blades. Shivering, I stood beside him and shouted my despair across, which was lost in the noise. High waves crashed against the rocks and sprayed us with hissing spray. We knew...