𝓐𝓷𝓪𝓫𝓮𝓵 | 𝒶 𝒷𝒶𝓁𝓁𝒶𝒹

That night, the two lovers embrace in bed.
Anabel holds a hand to her womb for those winters nights spent together had their bodies already met.

"It is still young, my love. Let me make love to you." Matthias said.
Their clothes lay in a pile as he sang her a song of red.

The words written on her tongue, with desperation, he read.
He kneads her breasts with delicacy like the tailor who uses needle and thread.
When he reaches her flower, with sweet kisses her legs he spreads.
His eyes, he lets, on her moisture fed.
Anabel cries out his name, in his neck she pled.

The hours of dark, in each other's arms, they let shed.
Too soon the day's rays shine on her face, for time does not wait for anyone and that night it fled.
Anabel's heart swells with love, not knowing what lay ahead.

~