An illicit love affair with bright lights and city streets. Big City, Bright Lights. Breathing art form, I am. A sculpture of divine light,. A carbon copy in the ant heap. But do not judge me. I have my own agenda.

Saturday, February 25, 2017. In me where your fingerprints. Still rest, your kisses. Still linger, and your whispers. Be a part of me. The way you look, smile. Smirk, the way your face. Reacts and transforms with my every whims and schemes; the way you kiss. Me all over whenever you want to ask for something; your caresses.

In Cognac for the Soul. The last line of defense. I was hanging by my fingertips. On faith, my faith. Even if you said you did,. Even if you promised you would. So I could decide for myself. I never put you to the test. Never tried to see for myself. Whether you would stop me. If I tried to leave,. But sometimes walking by faith.

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