iagara

She loved the scent of ink and smoke - and the way strangers caressed her name like the verdant rushes rolling off the river bank, or a low slung black dress sprawled dangerously across the floor. Mornings found her curled up where the light shivered blue and the cat's tale lingered like a secret, waking her from dreams brighter than early frost. But it was night that bought and sold her, made her heart a trinket, dressing her in silk as new as nuptials - that flagrant shade of flush and the rough and tumble of her hips serenading the world