He was my summertime fairytale prince, cigarette pressed between his slim piano playing fingers.  The smell of smoke mixing with the scent of that tangerine tree where he first pressed his exquisitely shaped lips to my neck and where we intertwined grandeur dreams of forever.  We played dumb, like we forgot I had a scholarship…

This content is for Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription, Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription and Basic Member members.
Log In Register
%d bloggers like this: