Mar 21, 2007 14:51
So messy... Miss Edith needs her dress washed. We've been very wicked to have earned so much. It's drip-dropping from my fingertips.
There's a memory in every drop. A scream, a cry, a whimper... it's musical. A symphony in red.
Liquid poetry.
I've dripped a sonnet...
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Today is beautiful. I don't want to drown its music.
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Oddly compelling.
[ooc: He's fascinated despite himself because he can actually see her point, which disturbs.]
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