t waits

art, and the room inh

ll her

came from, and that's

lights, slow jazz, eyes watching f

eartbeat, syncs with

it , fluid, contro

ce for them; she d

ure, every glance , a

crave most: the illusio

her with hunger

two, wi

f them rea

e eve

a slow, deliberate dip that t

breaks

ights

he curtain before any

away her gloves, he

usual lie , a woman perfectly c

, smearing a streak of red

de, Paris hums

etween two songs, she belong