A return to form, truly altruistic and truthfully meant to mean every thing – cloak and dagger moments that shall simultaneously insist – PERSIST – such is the crooked road back from the darkly beyond.
But what if she were to see it all in multi-colour magical magnificence anyhow, and wonderfully incorrect in its own Scintillated structure?
Would it perhaps be such a bad thing to maddeningly remain brilliant and, oft than not, caring to the bare essential point of unbeknownst bewilder…
With fingers that sing and, beneath it all, violin strings which will intricately whimper. Or vice-a-versa, whatever the fuck keeps her thirst tantalised and turns her on