She touched him with the softest hand.
The thunders of her love shocked him.
She was born from the pain in thorns and breathe the fire of lust.
From the thirst in her soul,
reeks the smell of evil.
There is love in her eyes just as much as flames in the sun.
But still she can't puncture him with all she does,
he is already smitten
by a different witch.
I am very pelased with hownthis picture turned out. It gives an embroidery vibe. Or even looks like the table clothes, pillow cases AND the carpets we had as a kid. Usually, such an image goes on the covers of our traditional poetry books. They are marvelous. I will long for such a perfect day, again. Where the light is perfect, rain in the air, colors are popping and the wind is smooth.
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